


It Runs Deep

by CinRose, McSpirky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asthma!sam, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Play, Blood and Gore, Cutting, F/F, F/M, Horror, Knife Play, M/M, Violent Sex, breath play, cabin in the woods horror, slight non/con elements sam/benny, suicide TW, supernatural horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 66,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinRose/pseuds/CinRose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/McSpirky/pseuds/McSpirky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When did this become Sam's life?<br/>Working on getting his lungs under control and looking anywhere but at his worried brother('s blood), Sam's gaze landed on the window just in time for his own veins to run cold.<br/>A dark shadow of a figure had darted past, as real as the screams from earlier, and Sam barely managed to get out a wheezy,<br/>"Someone's outside--"<br/>Before the power went out and they were cast into darkness.<br/>This time, Sam wasn't the only one who heard screams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello our freaky little darlings!  
> So the wifey and I came up with a special Halloween treat for you all. Bear with us, it's our first foray into horror. It has sex, mystery, violence, and death. It's a horror story, don't expect happy endings, friends.  
> Updates will be daily unless life explodes.  
> Enjoy!  
> Comments are love.

**June, 2000**

_~I see a bad moon arising. I see trouble on the way. I see earthquakes and lightning…~_

Creedence Clearwater Revival sang from the tinny radio on the nightstand as Cassie was shoved down onto the bed. Her dark skin complimented the flowery prints of the old comforter, lips blood red and bright. They caught Dean's attention away from the way her breasts jiggled from the fall. He was quick to straddle her down, wrists as fragile as a bird's wing under his hands. His weight pressed her into the bed as her soft ringlets brushed against his forearms. As soft as her naked thighs that held firmly against his own.

"Oh now, that's a pretty sight," he purred and she gnashed her teeth at his nose. Dean laughed, the deep throated rumble soon pressed to that pretty, painted mouth. Cassie melted beneath him a split second before she was straining against his hold. Full hips raised off the bed to grind his hard on against her taut belly. So desperate for him that Dean couldn't help but laugh into the kiss. He got bitten for his troubles.

"So feisty," he tsked in mock reprimand, as if that wasn't exactly why he was with her. Her pearly whites snapped again, telling Dean that it was his cue to hurry up and turn that snarl into a moan. His lips brushed her nose, then the corner of her lips, her neck and down, down to those beautiful, perky breasts. He blew cold air on each nipple to make them tighten into hard, dark nubs before his clever tongue and wicked teeth made her sing. It was the only noise that made him forget to miss the rattle in damaged lungs…

—–

"Sam? Baby, talk to me. It happened again, didn't it?"

It took Sam a few long moments to realize the screams weren't coming from his mind's imagination. It was hard to realize much of anything when you couldn't breathe, but the screams? Those were real. No one was getting hurt, no one was misstepping. The screams were coming from upstairs where his big brother was making it clear he knew how to make a girl cry out in quaking pleasure.

Sam's distant and fogged over hazels blinked a few times between worsening wheezes. Grief washed over him with enough force that all but doubled him over as his grey world returned to one full of color in the cabin's spacious, antique living room, the worried voices of Castiel and Jess there in the room with him. …But they weren't louder than the screams. Cassie was coming now, and he could still all but picture it as it happened.

It felt like someone was twisting a knife into his heart.

"I… can't," he managed on a choked breath, the corners of his eyes stinging and he had to close them against the tears, lungs rattling that much more on his next wheezed breath. He heard Castiel scramble away from the fireplace while Jess pressed her cool palm over his quivering chest, rubbing in the right way. Sam leaned into her touch despite himself, just needing to tell himself it didn't mean anything, it didn't have to mean anything.

"It's fine. I'm alright."

But it wasn't fine, his heart wouldn't stop pounding and his airways were getting smaller. Coughs were taking him over, stealing more of his precious air, and Sam was desperately patting himself down for his inhaler. Where had he left it?

—–

"Baby, please," Cassie moaned, full hips bucking up into Dean's sinful mouth, into the tongue that was destroying her as he ate her out with relish in the wake of her rolling orgasm. She was a shuddering, writhing mess under him, manicured nails raking over his scalp. Dean smirked around her clit and rubbed the oversensitive nub hard enough to make her jerk..

"Need you, I need you in me," Her fingers were desperately curling in his straw blond hair, tugging him up so she could drag his wet mouth to hers in a passion fueled kiss, legs curling around his hips with purpose. Like he could resist giving her what she wanted when she went all wild with lust on him, scratching down his back and rolling her body up against his, flushed with the pleasure he had given her and oh how she wanted more.

—–

Castiel's hand closed around Sam's wrist to pull it forward and place Sam's inhaler in his clammy palm. He and Jess watched Sam with twin expression of worry as he frantically pumped his lungs full of Albuterol. Jess continued to rub his chest and soon Cas helped ease his shuddering diaphragm by rubbing the small of his back. Though it didn't help when Dean's heavy sigh floated downstairs.

"Breathe, Sam. Focus on breathing through this," Cas encouraged.

"Maybe we should take a walk?" Jess suggested. Sam's lungs locked and Castiel shook his head.

"No, it will be raining soon. The others will be lucky as is if they don't get caught in it during their hike. Breathe, Sam."

—–

Her body was liquid fire, tight heat encasing him so good. Dean sighed against her bee stung mouth while soft curls slid over his fingers like silk. He buried himself to the hilt, hips pressed flush with her legs locked around his waist. Cassie always came alive beneath him. He could make her tremble with such impatient need from just a roll of his hips. Not even a proper thrust, an undulation of fluid grace just to feel her clench around him.

She could be cold sometimes, a statue of marble under his touch when they fought, but here, like this, she was all supple flesh and fire and she needed him like she couldn't need any other.

"Gonna make you feel so good," Dean promised, lips brushing against hers as he spoke. He lifted his hips, groaning at the slick, perfect friction as he pulled almost all the way out. "Gonna make you scream…"

A snap from below froze his movements. Dean's senses became hyper focused, his attention no longer in the room he shared with Cassie. Nails dug a warning into his sides but all Dean was concerned about was the whistle in the wind, like Sam's lungs after a particularly bad coughing fit, and another sound.

A dull thud.

"Sammy?" Dean called out without thinking. Naturally, it was the wrong thing to say in bed.

"Are you kidding me?" It was like all the sensual heat and fire between them had been doused in ice water. That's how cold and aggravated Cassie's voice was. She was pure sexual frustration and annoyance beneath him, reaching for Dean's face that had turned to the side to 'hear' to better make him look at her, anger in her dark eyes. He was clearly a dead man.

"Did you really just say your brother's name in bed? Again? Is fucking me something so boring it's that easy to get distracted?" She demanded. Dean had the good graces to flinch.

—–

"No.." Wheeze, nasty cough, another hit of Albuterol, eyes fluttering closed as he tried to get enough air in his lungs to speak, "..walks. No going outside." Not him, not her, not into the storm that was coming.

"Dean would… Spazz, he knows rain doesn't..help.."

Cassie's moan upstairs choked off and then all he could hear from them was talking and it didn't sound none too happy. Sam probably would've felt more relief if his head still wasn't so full of the screams and mental images. Eyes that couldn't quite look at Jess or Cas were still wet with unshed tears of grief he was trying so hard to rein in, trying so hard to breathe through the slowly calming asthma attack and the few rounds of coughs that continued to plague him.

In his peripheral vision he saw the look Jess was giving him and he gave a subtle shake of his head, taking another hit from the inhaler.

"I can't.. Tell him.. He'll think I'm a freak."

—–

Yeah, Dean knew there was no way to salvage that. Cassie was out for blood and Dean couldn't just let it go when Sam might very well be having a bad attack. It didn't matter that Jess and Cas were downstairs, Sam needed him. But Dean should have known better. The air was charged with gathering rain clouds and the damp was always a threat. More so than sharp nails and the wrath of a woman scorned.

"Don't you  _dare_ ," Cassie warned, but Dean's mind was made up.

"I'm sorry," he said and rushed out of her hold. Her nails caught the left side of his cheek, leaving a hot welt behind, possibly even blood. It was the price Dean was willing to pay as he scrambled for his pants. The bed creaked from shifting weight but Dean was out of there before she could catch him and eat him alive. He had to get to Sammy.

—–

"Sam, you have to tell him. This can't go on any longer," Jess was insisting down in the den.

Dean leaned over the banister to see the three huddled as they usually were on the god awful ugly couch of yellow stained leather and deer antlers. Sam was in the middle and his inhaler in his mouth, Jess's hand splayed carefully over Sam's chest, Cas's under Sam's sweater and on his back. Dean's jaw ticked as a hot surge of frustration washed over him.

"Tell me what?" Dean asked. Three heads snapped up in unison to give him similar 'hands caught in the cookie jar' stares. Aware of Cassie storming out of the room, his eyes locked on Sam's, brow raising expectantly. Sam usually cracked under pressure when Dean gave him that look.

Too bad then that Victor, Benny, and Jo chose that moment to grace them with their presence. The front door flew open and banged against the wall from the force of a harsh wind. It pushed them inside, carrying the scent of impending rain inside the cabin. The damp. Dean squawked indignantly and raced down the stairs.

"Looks like we came back just in time," Victor said as lightning split the sky outside.

It was Sam's saving grace, to be honest, because Dean was then occupied with getting to door closed before more damp air could get in the cabin. Or at least Sam thought it might be his saving grace, hastily getting up from the couch in the hopes of escaping while his brother was distracted, but the damp air had other plans the moment it got into his lungs. It wasn't gonna let him go anywhere.

Sam's wheezes became coughs again just as Cassie was making it to the banister in her bathrobe, looking pissed off with the way Dean was suddenly there on Sam like a bee to honey to rub his chest for him while the boy's fist curled in front of his mouth to cough and try and breathe through it…

And not stare in fascination at the line of blood on Dean's cheek that made his dick twitch. Definitely not that.

"Seriously? It's just a cough. Not an asthma attack, a _cough_ , and you gave up _sex_. How erotically codependent _are_ you?" She asked, clearly having no qualms with calling Dean out in front of everyone on being so obsessed over Sam's asthma.

"Get over yourself, Cassie," Jo scoffed, rolling her eyes as she pushed a hand through her windswept blond hair, "just because you're an only child princess doesn't mean Dean's suddenly not allowed to give a damn about his brother regardless that you've been sucking his dick for a few months."

Cassie's scandalized sound made the others in the den snicker despite themselves. Just another night up in the family cabin right?

When did this become Sam's life? Working on getting his lungs under control and looking anywhere but at his worried brother('s blood), Sam's gaze landed on the window just in time for his own veins to run cold.

A dark shadow of a figure had darted past, as real as the screams from earlier, and Sam barely managed to get out a wheezy,

" _Someone's outside_ –"

Before the power went out and they were cast into time, Sam wasn't the only one who heard screams.


	2. Chapter One: Saint Gabriel's Asylum

**March, 2003**

Rain was a constant pitter patter now a days. Over the past year or so, the skies over Normal, Illinois had been opening up progressively more, with over 18 inches having fallen this year alone. The resulting mist that made driving, or even looking out of a window, difficult had become as common as the air they all breathed. The complaining from her co-workers had mostly let up by now (they were getting used to the power outages), especially with the heavier storms letting up for drizzling pitter patter, but for Meg Masters?

She rather enjoyed the morbid dreariness of it all. There was just something about looking out of a barred window only to see white mist that brought a sense of…isolation. An odd thing to enjoy perhaps, working in a dark place like Saint Gabriel's, but that was all part of why she had chosen an asylum to begin with, now wasn't it?

She was one of the few who wasn't at all disturbed by the echoing screams of patients, who could handle a power outage with not but a candle to her name and not experience fear. She just didn't scare easy.

Maybe that was why she was drawn to the young patient who didn't seem to scare easy, either. The one who spent time mumbling or whispering to himself while he stared out windows, or played games by himself, never talking to doctors, wardens, or patients. Always by himself.

Now he was a fascinating one. His files cast a very interesting light on him, though minimal. Murderer. Schizophrenic. Got off on an insane plea, skipping jail time just to be committed here though it didn't give any details of the murder he had been committed for. No one doubted that he deserved to be there. The padded cuffs that offered limited but manageable mobility hadn't been forced on him for the sake of style. But files weren't always enough to get a read on a patient, not in Meg's eyes. There was more to this one than met the eyes.

"Novak again?" The guard asked, her nametag flashing 'Audrey' when her flashlight came to land on Meg and her lone candle in the dark.

The flickering light of her candle highlighted her features when she gave a wry smile.

"Not much else to do until my next set of rounds, might as well pass the time while we wait for them to get the back up generators turned on." She had a board game tucked under her arm, and a cloth wrapped gift in her pocket.

It was always a waiting game with the power coming back on or not. The price of the large stone asylum being built atop a hill. While they were far enough from town that the occasional escaped patients could be caught before doing any harm, they were at the full mercy of the freak storms of 2003.

"Alright. Just tap twice if he tries anything. I know you like him and all, but he's dangerous, Masters."

They always said that. It had yet to stop her.

It had started small, weeks back. Her talking to him while changing his bed or bringing his meals, never expecting him or forcing him to talk back. Her making idle one sided conversation the few times he came to the common room during the day (which was rare), or occasionally sitting down with him at night for a companionable silent game of Sorry! when he couldn't sleep.

He didn't often sleep, period.

"I'll be fine," she assured Audrey. Meg stepped around the guard, candlestick in hand, her heels echoing off the stone walls of the empty hallway. Along her way she lit candles here and there, the guard following after her with the keys.

Any light was better than no light, on chilly nights like this, and the echoes of screaming or crying patients was at least made a little…'less' with some light streaming into their rooms from the halls.

When she reached ward 696, Audrey made a slight face but unlocked and opened the door for her regardless with a,

"Two taps, Masters."

With a nod Meg was stepping into the dark room, not a candle or flashlight in sight, the flickering firefight casting shadows of twenty one year old sitting at his small table by the window, mumbling to himself.

Audrey closed the door behind Meg.

"I figured you might be bored," She began with, taking mindful steps towards the table, projecting her movements so he didn't react poorly. "…So I brought you a 'board' game. Get it?"

Her lips twitched as she carefully set the board game box down atop the table. With just her candle lighting up the small area, the things like pictures of saints and brass crosses high on the walls of the ward weren't as easily seen. For the better, really. Novak didn't seem to be too fond of such things.

He was often heard mumbling about how he would never get into heaven.

"May I sit…?"

He made a manic figure in the dark with a roughly grown beard and hair that curled around his face and brushed his shoulders. His eyes, which were sunken from too little sleep, were drawn to the flame and it's too bright glow that seemed to draw in more shadows than it repelled. They stretched from the ceiling and the walls, dark specters he claimed that were always reaching for him. Nothing repelled them. Not the damp and not the flames.

When he didn't talk, she took his silence as his consent much like always and took her seat, resting her candle atop the window sill to better illuminate them both and the table top.

"I brought you something else…" she added with a playful hint of a smirk that perhaps looked a little different in the shadows of firelight. She pulled out the cloth covered pudding cup and turning it this way and that in her hands, the contents of the wrapping still hidden from him. "If you'd like it. Would you?"

Maybe, just maybe he would say something this time.

A lady could hope.

The mist that pressed against the windows trapped the flame inside the ward, inside with the shadows that crept ever closer. His eyes followed them down and across the tiled floor to Meg. She waited patiently as his eyes traced over her and he mumbled something that she barely caught.

"They embrace like old friends. Feed on blood and sin."

Novak's hands curled into fists and he pulled his hands down under the table as if to hide them. The chain of his cuffs clinked and he paused at the sound. After a breath, he brought his hands back into sight and let his fingers uncurl. The shadows that made his features sharp and gaunt only added to the weariness in his sigh.

"Dead things know how to deceive."

Novak then looked down to her hands and his curiosity peaked. Some of the foil top peeked through her fingers and the shape of the cup was easily made out. His brows furrowed in confusion at first, head tipping to the side. Pudding cups were often given to the patients with their medicine to help with the chemical bite, but what she had was special.

Novak's eyes widened and emotion shot through his drugged haze. He brought his hands up slowly, pale fingers stretched out. Some of his nails were too long and some bitten short. There was a plea in his eyes for the desired treat.

"Please." His voice cracked from disuse. His eyes darted to hers and his outstretched hands hovered. It would be a cruel trick if she denied him, but he had given her what she wanted. His voice, rough like gravel and broken, but given beyond a manic mumble. Now it was her turn to give back.

"Banana's my favorite of them, too, I thought you might like one from my personal stash," she said and placed the banana pudding cup into his hovering hands. Her words made the gift more meaningful than just grabbing a random different one out of the asylum's kitchen. No, she had brought him this cup from her home. Such a small thing, but Meg wanted Novak to trust her.

She didn't miss the way his cloudy, drugged blue eyes seemed to light up with something akin to life. A longing. Maybe even a hint of happiness once he got his hands on it. A brief moment between the flickering fire of the candle and the shadows that made all of these weeks rather worth it.

"I thought you might like the change up, I know I would, especially on a night like this."

Meg produced a plastic spoon from her pocket and held it up next. Not yet giving it, just showing it to him as she asked, "Do… you like bananas?"

As soon as it was in his hands, Novak tore away the foil lid. It slid off of the table where it landed sticky side down on the floor. Ignoring the mess, he lifted the cup to his face and inhaled. The initial scent of bananas twisted his features in disgust, but his small smile refused to wan.

"No. I think bananas are repulsive," he said and held out a hand for the spoon. He understood the rules of the game, it was one of tit for tat. Many had tried to get him to talk, psychiatrists and nurses alike eager for the story of a madman, but Meg was smarter than them.

"But Sam liked them."

Meg watched Novak's face suddenly crumble. Unshed tears shone wet in his glazed eyes and he looked towards the window. Shadows fell over his face and for a moment it looked like he would let those tears fall and he'd break entirely. But instead Novak blinked and the grief slid away. He looked back at Meg, his hand jostling impatiently for the spoon.

"Please."

Meg didn't keep him waiting for very long. She handed over the spoon so he could eat the pudding flavored with something he hated just because someone else had loved bananas. Whoever this 'Sam' was, he was or had obviously been more than a little important to Mr. Novak.

"Sam liked them," Meg echoed, soft spoken and with care. As he dug a gluttonous portion out of the cup with an enthusiasm he rarely showed for meals, Meg took the opportunity to pick up the discarded lid with the cloth she had brought the cup wrapped up in, cleaning off the splat on the floor. All the while exuding a quiet calm to help encourage him to relax. "…But not anymore, does he?"

It was just a small nudge for him to perhaps tell her if she was right. Sam didn't like bananas anymore because he no longer existed. …If he had ever existed in the first place.

No one by the name of Sam had been found, after all, as far as Novak's files went. 'Sam' has been written off as a figment of the schizophrenic's mind.

"No," Novak whispered, spoon hovering over the cup. He stared down at the yellow goop and swallowed roughly. His throat clicked as if he was swallowing a stone rather than something soft and mushy. He set the spoon down in the cup and then pushed the half eaten pudding away. With the edge of the padded cuff, he wiped off the glob that clung to the corner of his lips.

"Because I killed him."

After dropping that fun note, his metaphorical strings were cut and Novak slumped forward. His head bowed low and repented. What lucidity Meg had inspired was gone and Novak returned to his muttering.

"All of them. Dead. We never should have gone back."

Meg knew serial killers. She had known many, both from her work and personally, and a serial killer Novak wasn't. It was there in his repentance, his not taking any joy from his actions leading to the deaths of many…

He wasn't going to be telling her much more tonight.

"I'm going to leave the game here," she said gently, patting the top of the box so he would know that she wanted him to register that it was staying. "You can play. …Maybe next time you can tell me a little more about this 'Sam', or this place you shouldn't have gone back to."

She gave him a moment to process and respond, but he remained motionless.

"I'll see if I can scrounge up a banana, if you can."

Her heels clicked on the floor lightly and she picked up her candle, the light and its shadows moving with her. Off of her.

"Good night, Mr. Novak."

Two taps, and the guard was letting her out.

As the door was shut with a clang, the facility roared to life. Lights flickered on, chasing away the shadows. Meg turned her head to watch Novak flinch then began to rock himself in his seat. The hard, plastic chair squeaked and the chain between his hands clanked. The noises weren't known for providing comfort.

"Never should have gone back. We had been warned. We had been warned. Never should have gone back."


	3. Chapter Two: Memories are Ghosts that Haunt our Minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in our AU Cas and Benny are brothers and in this chapter there will mostly be back story as Meg pries some information out of Cas' scattered mind. The POV's jump a little between Meg, Sam, and Cas.

**December, 2001**

"Just breathe in that clean, dry air, Sammy!"

Heavy boots crunched in the snow as Dean stepped out of the impala. The cold, crisp air sliced through the heat in the car, encouraging Sam and Cas to adjust their scarfs. It bit at their skin and seeped under their clothes, but they had to agree with Dean. It was clean and dry, a great improvement to the unseasonably wet weather in California.

That didn't make it any easier to be back.

"Sam?" Castiel asked with quiet worry, leaning forward from the back seat to clasp Sam's shoulder before he could leave the car.

The others were heading inside. the flash of Charlie's camera as she took pictures of the cabin flickering in the corner of Sam's eye. Behind her Kevin bitched about the cold, likely to balance her enthusiasm for the trip. They hadn't been there for the last trip. They were lucky not to live with those memories. Not like how Castiel and Sam lived with them.

"Are you sure about this?"

Sam drew in a slow breath, the rattle of a wheeze in his lungs audible even in this dry mountain air, but he was used to that by now. In fact, if you knew Sam well enough to be used to the sound of his breathing,  _this_ wheeze was considered a good wheeze. Stanford's pre-med debate champ could do many things right, but his lungs had decided a long time ago that breathing wasn't going to be one of those things. He didn't know what 'deep breaths' felt like, his lungs weren't capable of expanding all the way, so really his options were either breathe through what feels like straw (best option), breathe through what feels like a pinched straw (sucky, dizzying but manageable option), or three– don't breathe at all (and die, worst option).

All things considered, snowy mountains were a nice open straw compared to the pinched straw that was California during all the rain, and Sam's body wasn't complaining. As long as no one touched his chest the wrong way and sent his lungs into a spasm, and he didn't have some allergic reaction, his body would remain a-okay.

If only he could say the same about his aching heart.

"I owe it to her, Cas," came his answer in the end just as Cassie was pulling up in a cherry red mustang to park next to the black Impala, she, Victor, and a reluctant looking Jo spilling out of it. If his lungs gave a slight spasm at the sight of Cassie kicking up snow on her way to throwing her arms around Dean to kiss him, he told himself it was because of how terrible it would be to breathe any of that in, not because it felt like a punch to his chest to watch Dean kiss anyone.

He muffled his wheezy cough into his scarf, free hand pressing into his chest and rubbing slow circles to help encourage the spasms to taper off.

"…Can't just…" Wheeze, eyes slipping closed, pushing thoughts of his brother and Cassie out of his mind to focus on Jess, a pained look of grief crossing his face, "…just forget about her. We owe her…n' Benny…for bringing them here, don't we?" The pauses in his sentences were normal, he had to break off to take breaths. "To come here n'…n' have a proper moment of silence."

"That's the idea."

Dean's head popped into view as he ducked down to check on Sam. His eyes were locked on Cas' gloved hand, watching it squeeze gently then slide off of Sam's shoulder when Cas stepped out of the car. Dean then met Sam's eyes and smiled with a touch of bravado.

"Come on, big guy. Cas can get the luggage while I help you up to the cabin."

"When did I say that?" Cas called from behind the impala. Dean reached over Sam to push down the button to make the trunk open. It popped up, almost catching Cas on the chin. Dean grinned through Cas's bitching, of which Sam just gave a wheezy sigh.

"Just now! Don't forget his medicine."

Dean pulled back and then offered Sam a hand to help him out of the Impala. The only bag he was carrying was the ever present emergency kit. After the accident, he was never seen without the red bag slung over his shoulder, filled with epi pens, the extra inhaler, and emergency pills. Dean often asked Sam what he would do without him.

"That almost hit me."

Dean ignored Cas, who looked like a constipated mule scowling beneath all the bags he was carrying, while Sam barely had the time to offer an apologetic shrug before he was lead forward over the snow. The rustic cabin loomed above them, freshly fallen snow glinting in the afternoon sun. Lights were on downstairs and it gave off a welcoming vibe. There was no hints of the past tragedy, only warmth that drew the group in. Just as how it had looked last time…

"Sheriff Hanscum made sure the place is nice and toasty for us, so let's get you out of the cold, little brother."

"She also warned us that there have been strange incidents nearby. People have been returning down the mountain complaining of something stalking the woods. She mentioned mutilated wild life," Cas pointed out behind them. Dean merely rolled his eyes.

"Probably just bears. Stop being a worry wart, Lafitte," Dean and Sam moved forward, leaving Castiel to stare up at the cabin nervously. Dean was the only one who didn't seem to get the heebie jeebies from looking at it.

"Oh yeah, this is much better," Dean crowed and gave Sam a careful squeeze.

The cabin was just as they remembered it. It had been built in the fifties by their grandfather but offered modern comforts like up to date lighting and plumbing. The furniture was all old, however, made of oak and antlers and genuine leather. The rugs were authentic fur and the heads of elk and bears greeted them from high up on the walls. It had that old time feeling to it that promised comfort.

"Wow, you guys weren't kidding about this place," Charlie said. She spun in a circle in the middle of the lounge, taking it all in. Kevin was already up the stairs with his bag. Apparently he had no time for things like enjoying the aesthetics.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked him.

"To find a room. We were in that car for hours and Charlie had pick of the music. If I don't get some privacy, I might kill someone."

"I don't blame him," Jo pointed out with a wrinkle of her nose. "Cassie wouldn't shut off the classical music–" She complained, still carrying her own bag, looking around the place with a wariness that didn't exist in Charlie and Kevin. For good reason, really. Sam didn't blame her, considering the place was 'safe' now thanks to her.

"Oh shush, you had your headphones in the whole time," Cassie protested, she and Victor taking it upon themselves to open the dusty curtains and let in some sun, the shadows from the elk head and chandelier casting new shadows onto the walls. …She hadn't taken Sam into consideration in the least, but that was okay, he was used to that and came prepared with an inhaler that he promptly took a hit from to keep his airways open.

"Our ride wasn't…" Sam gave a wheezy smile, radiant as ever to dispel the shadows of the place (and the shadows of grief in his heart), as if he wasn't about to finish his sentence by being a cheeky little shit, "so bad. Dean only… sang some of the time. We've had worse."

If Sam were anyone else, he would've gotten an elbow jab from his brother, but since he was 'Sammy', he didn't get much more than a bitchy look. Mostly because Dean was aiming to direct his ire elsewhere.

"Are you guys freaking kidding me?"

Surprising no one, Dean did not take too well to Sam having to use his inhaler. As Dean stormed over to Cassie and Victor. Charlie chose that moment to declare that she was going to check out the upper stairs. Sam watched Jo scurry after her, eyes trailing up after her.

"I'll get the firewood together. Sun'll be setting soon," Sam sighed.

Curling up by the fire with some hot chocolate sounded like a good first night to Sam, though he'd be lying if he said his gaze wasn't drawing to the stairs that led to the rooms upstairs. …There were many memories up there.

"Oh here we go," Victor muttered.

"Perfume, cigarette smoke, and dust. Those are the three big ones and you two just got one of them all over the cabin! Are you trying to kill Sam?"

"Hey man, it's not like we did it on purpose!"

With the drama behind them, Sam looked over his shoulder when Castiel joined him at the fire place. His hand fell easily to the small of Sam's back to help him ease onto his knees. Cas reached for the pile first, he would not stop Sam from helping but he would do the blunt work, and began stacking the chopped wood in the center of the fireplace.

"Don't give me that, Dean," Sam could hear Cassie huffing. She was likely poking Dean in the chest in a way that were he Sam, would send him into a coughing fit. The eighteen year old rubbed over his chest gently just imagining it, but he kept focused on the task at hand, working together with a helpful Castiel to get wood placed into the fireplace.

"Do you think Dean would have a heart attack if he ever finds out that we smoke pot in the dorm?" He asked in a conspiratorial whisper. "Or just a stroke?"

"You knew no one had been here in over a year when you invited us up here, and you're gonna get mad at us for letting in some light? Sam isn't keeling over, is he? ARE you, Sam?"

"I think he'd have…" A wheeze and a flash of dimples, nearly having to snicker into his scarf as well, "..both, if he ever found out," he answered his best friend before drawing in a slow breath to answer louder, "No, ma'am, I'm good."

"See? He's fine! He's a not a kid anymore, why are you still babying him?"

"I'm not babying him, I'm watching out for him. Or did you forget what happened the last time we didn't keep a good eye on Sammy?" Dean said through clenched teeth. His eyes were flinty and his words were like the report of a gunshot. Everyone flinched.

Castiel placed the last log in and caught Sam rubbing his chest, over the surgery scar that had begun to finally fade. He rubbed Sam's back to ease his breathing. Before Sam could express his gratitude, Castiel gave a shudder. Sam looked back in time to catch the heavy stare Dean cast over Cas. Realizing that he was caught, Dean turned away towards the luggage that Cas had left by the door.

* * *

"Sam was always sick," Novak broke away from the story to explain. He stood at the window, electric blue eyes reflecting off of the glass with each crack of lightning. The rain was coming down hard. Most of the patients had converged to the main lounge to hide from the storm in the glow of an old movie. Novak had remained in ward 696, watching the rain while he rubbed at his chest mindlessly. After the pudding cup a week ago, Meg had found herself surprised when Novak decided to let her in and tell his story.

"He had a severe case of asthma and was allergic to… the world, he would say. Breathing was… not his strong suit. His brother Dean worried," Novak said in a calm, monotone voice before he breathed on the glass. He raised his hands up and began tracing symbols into the fog. When he turned around, Meg briefly caught sight of a star with flames around it before it disappeared.

"I can see why, asthma isn't something you play around with, especially with a severe case. From what it sounds like, though, Dean wasn't too excited when you'd help out," she observed, her tone light and gentle in an effort to keep him from shutting down. In an effort to encourage him to continue and maybe fill in the blanks. …Whether figment of his imagination, or real, he had captured her interest completely.

"Dean was my friend," Novak insisted, stopping at the side of the table. He wrung his hands anxiously and there was a wild look in his eyes. Thunder roared with another whip crack of lightning, causing the lights above them began to flicker.

She produced a banana from her pocket, eyeing it for a few long moments. The rain continued to fall outside, she could hear the wind like an otherworldly cry in the distance before her gaze flicked over to him, knowing he would be watching. She offered him the banana.

To her relief, Novak seemed to calm down rather than grow more agitated by the storm. He shuffled back to the table and then reached for the fruit slowly, giving off a skeptical air. Meg remained still and kept her free hand in view and on the table. When he seemed reassured that she wasn't going to try something, he snatched the banana out of her hands.

"But no, he didn't like it. He had always been protective of Sam for as long as I can remember and I've almost known them my whole life."

* * *

**August, 1988**

"Sammy, did you remember your inhaler?"

Castiel looked away from the lady bug he had been watching in the garden to look across the street between the moving vans. His small hands wiped off the mud from his coveralls while a boy with shaggy brown hair jogged towards his new house. Behind him was a taller boy, as tall as Castiel's brother, with straw colored hair and a dusting of freckles across his nose. His eyes darted back to the younger boy who stopped to catch his breath. He hunched over, hands on his knees, and wheezed with every breath. The taller boy's shoes skidded on the asphalt when he stopped to hand his brother something.

"Looks like the little one has asthma. Means he has trouble breathing," Benny said. Castiel turned his head to look up at his big brother. He was out of breath as well, sweaty and stinky, from helping with all the boxes. Castiel was too little for the heavy lifting, but he hadn't minded. He preferred being out in the garden.

"Is he going to be alright?" Castiel asked. Benny gave him a reassuring smile and ruffled Cas' hair.

"I'm sure he will be, blue bird. Come on, let's go introduce ourselves."

"W…Wanna do it… by m'self, Dee!" Sammy insisted, his young voice full of stubbornness, small hand bating away his big brother's hand and the inhaler he was trying to give him. Because of course Sammy hadn't brought his own.

He wanted to beat this! He would beat it, why didn't Dean  _believe_ in him? He just wanted his big brother to believe in him.

"I can… Breathe… By m'self…"

Not well, at all, especially when his lungs kept rattling and spasming from his insisting to run (oh how he longed to run! to play!), leading the poor boy to cough into his fist and lean his side heavily against Dean's side. Breathing through a pinched straw wasn't fun, and neither were mild asthma attacks.

"I wan..na play…" His supplicating words and puppy dog eyes trailed off when the new neighbors crossed the street, the small hand pressing to his chest clenching in his shirt, willing his lungs to obey him without that nasty tasting inhaler… Kids! Kids were moving in close for the first time!

He would've bounced on the balls of his feet eagerly if it weren't for how  _lightheaded_  he was.

"Oh sure you can. Take your inhaler Sammy. You wanna be on a breathing treatment all… uh, hey," Dean said, noticing their audience. His cheeks colored and he drew Sam closer protectively. One was dirty and the other was sweaty so Dean wasn't about to let them close and make Sam's attack worse. Sam knew the drill.

"Hi," Sam wheezed, all dimples, as if there was nothing different about him at all, opening and closing his free hand in a friendly wave. "M' Sam. Are y'gonna… live here now?"

"Well hi, Sam. We're moving in, aren't we? Don't think our parents plan on moving again any time soon. I'm Benny Lafitte and this is…"

"How old are you?" The littlest one interrupted. He was shorter than Sammy with a shock of dark hair to Benny's light brown mop but he didn't have much baby fat on him.

"Castiel, don't be rude. You're supposed to give your name, first," Benny said and roughly ruffled Castiel's head. His unruly hair stood up even more wildly.

"What kind of name is Castiel?" Dean asked. Benny laughed at his brother's scowl and he ruffled his hair again.

"The kind that our mother gave him. She had troubles with him, you see, before he was born. Then came out not breathing. Doctor's made him breathe and Mamma called him her angel so she named him after one."

"Huh. Uh, okay. I'm Dean and Sam's not a good breather himself. He's five and I'm nine," Dean said.

"Oh," Cas said and looked disappointed. He glanced down at the floor then back up at Sam. "I'm six. We might not be in the same class." Then in a curious tone he asked, "Are you dying?"

" _Castiel_!"

"No, it's okay because he just might if he  _doesn't take his inhaler_ ," Dean said and before Sam could fight, he shoved the inhaler in Sam's mouth, held his jaw, and depressed the capsule to pump medicine into his system. He jerked and coughed around the inhaler, but his breathing did become better with it. That didn't change the fact that the inhaler was the bane of his existence though. Or from becoming a mass of pouts in his big brother's arms.

Forever wheezy, but breathing, the light headedness fading away.

"Still, I'm sorry about him. He likes weird things," Benny said. Dean grinned up at Benny while Sam was staring at Cas and Benny's eyes. They were bright blue, his second favorite color to green.

"I wanted t'do it.." Wheeze. "By my self! I was doin' fine," he insisted, his messy flop of hair all over the place, lower lip pooched in a pout up at Dean before he was struggling to get him off him so he could meet his new friend!

"He does, huh?" Dean answered Benny and let Sam go with a swat to the end of his long hair. "Well he's in luck because Sam  _is_ a weird thing. They should get along just fine."

"I'm'a be in first grade," he told Castiel with a big smile, lungs rattling with his big breath as he bound up to him. "I get'ta..skip kind'a gawden 'cause I'm smart!"

For all his hindrances, it was clear Sammy enjoyed talking, and would make up for Castiel's short sentences with his longer, wheezily broken up ones. His illness didn't own him, he was his own, very short little person.

Small hands reached for the shorter boy's face, cupping it without asking to better peer into the bluest eyes to ever blue.

"You have… pwetty eyes, Cassy …Bet'cha..weally are n' angel! Wanna be..my fwend?"

Castiel stared back, his eyes wide and his cheeks warm under Sam's hands.

"Yes," he said bluntly. "I… like your eyes too. They're like galaxies. Do you like space, Sam?"

* * *

"Sam was very forward," Novak said as he pushed a pawn forward on the checkerboard. Meg had had to wait another week to get that much out of him, but it was a lucid day. Or seemed to be at least.

His file hadn't mentioned a brother and only listed his parents as James and Amelia Novak. And last anyone checked, Casey wasn't a biblical name, let alone that of an angel. So either the file was wrong or Mr. Casey Novak was delusional.

"We became fast friends because Sam wasn't shy like me and he appreciated that I didn't get impatient with his many pauses between words. The only person I had ever seen him shy around was…"

Novak paused and grew quiet. He turned away from the game to look out the window where the fog was thick that night. No light streamed through, trapping the flickering light of Meg's candle. Blackouts seemed the prime time to get Novak to talk, but it wasn't always easy. Sometimes she had to resort to bribery.

Meg slid her knight then placed something in front of Novak, catching his attention. His face crumbled when he saw the bag of peanut M&M's. It didn't stop him from snatching them up and ripping the bag open with his teeth.

"Jessica. Her name was Jessica. I think Sam fell in love with her at first sight."

* * *

**October, 1997**

Castiel had never seen Sam struck dumb before, not like the way he had the afternoon that Jessica Moore moved next to the Lafitte's. Sam had gone from (carefully) tossing Castiel's basketball to stock still when she had approached to introduce herself. While the others gave their names, Dean tacking on a wink to his, while Sam just stared at her and all of her beauty before his brain finally caught up with his wheezy self enough to stammer out a,

"S- Sam.. Umm. Sam Winchester." Castiel stared at Sam, dumbfounded to see him flushing (which was a rare sight indeed) pink and ducking his head with a pair of shy, sheepish dimples on his face. It was clear that he was smitten from day one, absolutely enraptured by her blond hair and green-blue eyes…her freckles that he would later lament over and over about…

In the end she had of course gone on her merry way and Sammy had been left bereft.

"How do I talk to her, Cassy?"

"What happened to her?" Meg interrupted curiously, not missing the way Novak also talked about her in the past tense. Had she been there, for the fire then?

There was a lot of pieces to this puzzle, but they were getting somewhere albeit slowly, another week having gone by before Meg could learn more about Jessica other than her name. The pack of almonds she gave him that night would at least encourage him to maybe elaborate on this Jessica person.

More than he had on a brother or his name being angelic, anyway… she hadn't gotten him to explain those bits to her without him shutting down yet, Benny as seemingly dear to his heart as he was, but Jessica…

Maybe he would talk about Jessica.

Novak was quiet for a while. He contemplated their game but didn't make any moves. There were times when he would go quiet on Meg and fall into a stupor. Most of the time, he didn't snap out of it. Resigning to another long wait for the rest of the story, Meg reached for the box to put the game away. Her fingers closed around cardboard when Novak began speaking again.

"You could say that in a way, I killed her, too," he began without making eye contact. His eyes were focused on the shadows that hid the crosses of Saint Gabriel.

"I did push for them to meet, after all."

* * *

**November, 1997**

A dark and twisted feeling churned in Castiel's gut as he waited for the door to open. Since the day Jessica Moore arrived to Sioux Falls, he had despaired everytime Sam caught sight of her. Not for any personal reasons against her, she seemed nice, was pretty, and was kind to them at school. No, his dislike of Jessica had different grounds, and it was of those grounds that found him at the door. Sam was far too enamored with her and something had to be done.

The door opened and Jessica stood behind it, letting Castiel view only part of her living room, her body blocking the rest. Curiosity had him leaning up to see inside, catching glimpses of crosses that similarly covered his own home.

"Hello?"

His eyes snapped to hers and she flinched. Castiel was used to that by then and ignored her unease. Without a greeting, he thrust his hand into his pocket and drew the crumpled sheet of notebook paper and handed it to her. There were two different sets of handwriting on it. His sloppy print and Sam's more careful cursive.

"Sam likes you. A lot. He says so on the note we passed during class. Here." Confusion writ all over her features as she tentatively took the note.

"Okay. I'm not sure what you want me to do…"

"I want you to read it and talk to him. You make him feel like an idiot, you're all that he talks about, and I have never seen him act so ridiculous around anyone before. Sam… has had a difficult life. He acts like you make it better just by being in it," Castiel said flatly.

His stomach churned again and he found himself pressing against his chest much like how Sam did when he couldn't breathe. Saying what he needed to say, he turned away and left Jessica with the note. She called after him, but he didn't stop.

Later that evening, he watched through his bedroom window as Jessica weaved her way to Sam's house. Castiel closed the curtains.

"That's not, I didn't, I-I-I–I don't know why he would–" Sam's flabbergasted stammers are all he can manage right there on his own couch after inviting the girl of his dreams inside of his house only to be told that Cas had gone and SHOWED her—

He wasn't left to flounder (or lose his breath) for very long however because he was soon shut up by a hand on his cheek and soft, warm lips pressing against his. It was nothing extravagant, nothing mindblowing if you were someone like Dean, just a pressing of lips, but it was Sam's first kiss and for him it was tingles and fireworks and a soft wheezy sigh of bliss.

"W..why… Did you do that?" He asked her in a quiet daze, young features flushed both from brief lack of oxygen and overall awe. She didn't know anything about him beyond that he was fourteen, his being the weird asthma kid at school, and his notes to Cassy, and she kissed him.

He was blushing and lost.

"Because…" Jess looked down to watch how their fingers tangled together as she took his hand. Her thumb brushed over his knuckles tenderly and elicited a shiver from Sam. She looked up into his eyes, both shy but brave, and slid the hand on his cheek down to caress his neck boldly.

"Castiel was right to tell me. I like you too, Sam. I like you a lot."

Sam's stomach was doing fluttery flip flops, heart skipping a beat in his chest when their fingers laced together. This was real. …Sam saw many things that maybe weren't, had plenty nightmares of things that he hoped weren't real, but this…? Her hand on his neck, the way he leaned into it, as if to entrust his very breath to her, her eyes meeting his… This was real.

Her confession had him blushing that much more, heat creeping up his neck, his face, a boyish, _breathless_ smile on his his lips, dimples making themselves known.

"Really?" he asked, amazed and in awe of her, looking at her as if she was an angel sent from heaven itself to brighten his dark world. She was his air.

His lungs rattled with his soft wheeze of an inhale, his sheepish little laugh, ducking his head like an elementary school boy.

Sam was rarely ever at a loss for words, but she stole his ability to think.

"So… So what do we do now…?" he asked intelligently. Sam had never had a girl like him before, he didn't know what to do with himself, or this giddy warmth in his chest, free hand rubbing over it.

"Do you wanna… Go for a walk…? We can get ice cream?" Or in Sam's case frozen yogurt. He couldn't have milk.

"I'm sorry if I… Sounded dumb in my notes, I… You just smile and I kind of forget myself for… A while. I'm really happy you moved here."

"I think you're sweet," Jess said and leaned in to give him another peck on the lips. She pulled back and met his gaze, They were immediately caught in a spell. A spark ignited between them that had even Jess's breath catching in her lungs. As one they leaned in to share a longer, sweeter kiss. She only pulled back when Sam's lungs rattled.

"What do we do now? The answer to that, Sam Winchester, is to ask me to be your girlfriend."

* * *

Novak rocked back and forth, his knuckles white from the tight grip he had on his hair. The contents of Sorry! were spilled over the floor, a casualty of his outburst. The reinforced metal door opened with a squeal of its hedges and Audrey stalked inside with the taser ready in her hand.

"We should have known better. We did know better. _I_  knew better. I thought I was being selfless but all we did was feed it. Sam always said that when he was the happiest was when things went downhill. It feasted on his happiness and his sorrow."

"Masters?" Audrey hissed for the go ahead. They had the right to be wary around Novak despite his age. His hands were stained with blood. No one had forgotten the orderly he had strangled to death on Novak's first night at St. Gabriels.

"Bloated. Fat. We gave it so much to feed off of…"

Meg was quick to stand, holding a hand out towards Audrey to stay her with a measured,

"Go. I have this under control. –Mr Novak, I need you to sit. Can you do that for me? Nothing is happening right now, nothing is happening or being fed, please sit and breathe for me."

It was a true test of bravery, or perhaps stupidity, to carefully approach what everyone else at the asylum considered to be the beast with nothing but candlelight as her guide to him in the dark… but approach she did.

Eased his hands out of his hair, she did, and sit him down… She did, holding his intense gaze with her own quiet one. Patient. Calm. Conveying that it was alright. It's in the past, it's alright…

"I don't want to have to strap you down, Mr. Novak, you know I don't ever want to do that, so just breathe for me, okay?"

It was her fault, really, letting him skip meds that kept him calmer and sedated, but how else would he be lucid enough to talk to her? In the end she had had to make sure he took at least another round of meds. With Audrey watching, and after his outburst, there hadn't been much choice, but it was okay. He would calm and they could try and again.

They were getting somewhere. Somewhere important. She could feel it.

 


	4. Chapter Three: The Most Dire Warnings Come too Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Novak's head cocked to the other side as he considered Meg openly. The flame on the window sill flickered, catching in his deep eyes. Shadows seemed to flit behind them before he blinked and the haze of a week on his medication returned.
> 
> "Sam's personality had nothing to do with his... abilities."

"Will this rain ever stop? If only to make them shut up." The report of the lock sliding back reverberated through the dark halls to be lost amid the howling. A visible shudder ran through the security guard, but Meg remained unaffected. She wasn't the only one. On the other side of the door sat Novak with a vanilla pudding cup in his hands. He did not flinch nor even looked up when the door was pushed open. He continued to stare at the cup as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

After a week of Novak being in a catatonic state, there he was, waiting for her to ask for more of his story. It brought a smile to Meg's lips. She hadn't even needed to bribe him first.

"Remember Masters, two taps," Audrey said, her deeper voice clipped and stern.

Two loud taps cut through a momentary respite from the screaming. Audrey jumped and reach for her taser. Novak hadn't looked up but he had two fingers pressed to the top of his table, indicating that the taps had come from him. Whether he meant to unsettle the guard or remind Meg that he was dangerous was anybody's guess.

But Meg was anything but unsettled. If anything, while a paranoid guard closed and locked her in here with the murderer who was more conscious of his surroundings than he let on, she was nothing short of pleased. Sweet progress.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" she asked him, not that she expected an answer.

Like always her every step and movement was projected before she made it. She took a seat across from him at the table, one leg crossing over the other. She could just see inside his room and that his bathing sponge was still out. How pathetically 'brave' personnel could be when a person was strapped down.

"I enjoy the rain. There's a tranquility in its persistence. Something we don't get much of elsewhere," she continued. Not when even now the distant screams could still be heard.

"The rain was bad for Sam. Dean would never bring him here," Novak muttered.

Her gaze trailed from the window and the mist back to her patient, her curiosity returning. She folded her hands together atop the table. In grabbing distance to his, if he wanted to hurt her.

He wouldn't. She had no doubt.

"…If you're up to it, Mr. Novak, I was meaning to ask you what you meant last week. This… Sam of yours, you said he wasn't allowed to be happy. It fed something when he was, what did you mean by that? What happened when Sam was happy?"

Novak's head cocked to the side, his eyes still on the vanilla pudding cup. He twisted it, allowing her to make out the pills that were dissolving from within. There was a pink streak on the side of the cup that looked like diluted blood. He tipped the cup to make the streak disappear and then set it down and slid it away. As it bumped against her fingertips, he finally looked at her and met Meg's eyes in the glow of her single candle.

"People died," he said plainly and tapped the table twice quietly.

Then Novak grew eerily still. The only movement was his chest expanding as he breathed. There were no more offers of stories, not until Meg took a banana out of a pocket and slid it across the table. Finally he moved once more and slowly took the banana. It disappeared under the table.. Meg had yet to see him eat the bananas.

"It was the price of the gifts. I was one. A man became a splat on the wall for me. I wasn't a very good gift. But for Jessica… she was worth more than a splat. Maybe that is just how things are, for people like Sam."

"People like Sam…?" Meg prompted, studying Novak's expression. No one had gotten nearly this far in his story and Meg couldn't be sure if he trusted her with it. He had told Dr. Reynolds that he wouldn't believe him and then shut himself off entirely.

"Whatever you tell me, I'm here to listen, Mr. Novak. Nothing is too 'out there' for me, I don't scare easy."

Just in case that was his concern and he hadn't deduced yet that she had her own appreciation for morbid truths. She hadn't once tried to psychoanalyze him, hadn't once accused him of his story being a figment of his imagination. She had only ever listened, quiet and attentive.

"This thing that fed in Sam's happiness…what price did it make him pay for Jess? What kind of person was Sam, what did you mean by that..? He sounded like he was quite the goody two shoes. A sweet boy, to you and others."

Novak's head cocked to the other side as he considered Meg openly. The flame on the window sill flickered, catching in his deep eyes. Shadows seemed to flit behind them before he blinked and the haze of a week on his medication returned.

"Sam's personality had nothing to do with his… abilities."

He looked away and down at the floor. Unerringly, he dipped a finger into the pudding cup and began to trace symbols on the table, never once lifting his eyes from the floor. The lines were thin and often disappeared within the cream colored table top. The star surrounded by what looked like flames, however, Meg could make out clearly.

"Abilities?" She prompted again and Castiel looked back up at her.

"He had visions. Jessica found out the hard way."

* * *

**November, 2nd, 1997**

"Okay so, you can't have peanuts, or really any nut, shell fish, and dairy. Wheat is a hit or miss. Am I missing anything?" Jess asked over her rocky road ice cream cone. The door to the ice cream shop chimed as it closed behind them. Someone's perfume had been too strong for Sam so they left the shop to take their treats back to his house. Some date, but Jess assured that it was fine.

"I'm asking because I want to know for our future dates, and who knows? Maybe I'll cook for you some day so stop looking like food allergies is going to chase me away. After reading that note," she teased and Sam's heart skipped, "it's going to take something pretty major to scare this girl."

"You don't think it's lame…?" Sam asked, ducking his head with sheepish embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. He was such a dork. She got to have an awesome waffle cone and he had to be the weirdo with the plastic cup. He had even had to specify no latex to the attendant, just in case the spoon or anything had latex. His life was so frustrating sometimes. Normally it didn't phase him, he was used to being weird and embraced it, chugging on through like a trooper, but being around Jess? He felt shy and self conscious. It was dumb.

He was being dumb, especially when she even offered to cook for him, earning a relieved, dimpled smile from her wheezy new boyfriend. Sam was still getting used to that.

"Okay, so yeah. Nuts –some worse than others–, dairy.." Wheeze, "..shellfish, wheat just really depends, all the 'cillins', plenty of other meds, latex, certain perfumes, wool, pollen, dust, cats, smoke's a killer…" He threw the last one in to be funny but even he knew it kind of wasn't, his half chuckle becoming a dumb wheeze and a slight face. The list was pretty extensive. It was sad and Sam wasn't oblivious to that.

"…I'm sorry. I know it's gotta suck dating a…"

The word 'freak' died on his lips and his spoon hovered above his lips, frozen, when it hit him.

"Dating a…" Jess hedged but his whole world went white and his body went rigid as if he had been struck by lightning. A blink and you might have missed it. The only warning Jess would have that something was about to happen while they stood alone on an empty sidewalk was Sam's sharp intake of breath (something his lungs weren't built for and should have had him coughing up a storm… but didn't).

He was distantly aware of his fingers going lax, of his frozen non-dairy yogurt falling with a splat and clatter to the ground. His hands jumped up to grab his head with a cry of anguish as pain sliced through his skull. Next to them on the street a car went zooming past at ungodly speeds.

Sam crumbled to his knees, his wheezing breaths were growing too quick, straining his lungs into dangerous choked heaves, his glossed over eyes staring unseeingly into the distance the car had zoomed off to.

Sam wasn't there with Jessica, not in mind. He was with that car, lost to the whirlwind of his vision, the world whipping about around him. Visions that forever continued to pluck him out of time and space to show him terrors and horrors, and this one? This one was the worst so far.

"No! Nonono! Dad's in there, please no! Stop the car, you're gonna hit him–!"

They could all but feel, let alone hear, the crash that took place two streets down.

The collision of the vehicle that hit his father's driver's side was so powerful, so real and absolute, that it was like the vehicle itself had rammed Sam's chest. It knocked him out of the real-time vision and lead him to double over with rattled, chopped up, dry heaves and coughs. The sound of breaking glass and his father's screams echoed in his ears,

"I…" His wheeze was terrible, voice strained and full of tears as he desperately tried to get up even though he couldn't breathe, dizzy and stumbling but desperate to make his body move. "…my dad…my dad, that car… That car hit my dad!"

"Sam went into hysterics. Jessica didn't know what to do so she rushed back to the icecream shop and called me," Novak said. He wiped his sticky fingers on his shirt, eyes once more casting upwards. Through the shadows he found the brass cross that bore a crucified Jesus, the crown of horns settled firmly on his head. His gaze turned sad as he looked it over. Meg wasn't sure that it was Jesus he was seeing nailed to the cross.

Castiel's tennis shoes pounded against the concrete as he raced for the Sally's Ice Cream Shop. His lungs burned and his legs ached, but he did not stop running. He weaved through the crowd that had gathered, more people running towards the blaring sirens, but Castiel was not running towards the wreck. He ran towards the wrecked boy kneeling in the mess of fallen ice cream.

"Sam!"

"He's not breathing," Jessica said at his side, frantic. Castiel pushed people out of his way to get to Sam. He was struggling to get up while Jess struggled to keep him down. Castiel heard the distressing wheezing over the pound of his own pulse in his ears, heard that whistle that meant real trouble. He slid to his knees, the mess sticky and tacky, staining his slacks, while Castiel dug his hand into his pocket to retrieve Sam's emergency inhaler..

"What happened?" He demanded as he took a page out of Dean's book and forced Sam to take his medicine.

"We- we were just walking when a car drove by. Suddenly Sam froze and his yogurt dropped and then he… he thinks his father was hit. We can't see the accident from here. How could he know?" She asked. Castiel looked up at her, taking in the tears in her eyes and the fear that marred her pretty face. With no answer for her, he looked down at Sam and made him take another hit.

"Move! Get out of my fucking way!"

Beyond the crowd Castiel heard Dean shove his way through. He ran past, not seeing them on the ground, surrounded by onlookers as they were. Castiel tracked the sound of his heavy boots as he raced towards the wreck. A third hit of the inhaler and Dean confirmed Sam's prediction.

"Dad, no!"

"I'll get him. Rub his neck here," he ordered, showing Jess where to massage to keep the airway open. Provided that they weren't too late.

Leaving Sam in Jessica's care, he threw himself to his feet and ran towards the crash, weaving through people and police vehicles to get to Dean. The carnage revealed itself in bits of metal and shreds of fiberglass on the street. A bumper here, what was left of a tire there. A morbid trail that lead to what remained of the white truck Mr. Winchester drove. The driver's side was completely smashed in and the vehicle was pinned between a telephone pole and the car that had hit it. If John was still alive, (doubtful, Castiel could see the top of his head listing at an odd angle, covered in blood) he wouldn't be by the time paramedics finally pried him out of the wreckage.

"Let me go! That's my dad. Oh god… that's… Dad!"

Castiel looked away from the wreck to Dean where he fought against the hold of police officers that struggled to keep him away. One sported a black eye and the other had blood running from his nose. Dean was known for his right hook…

"Dean! Sam needs you right now. He saw, Dean, and he is not doing well." It was all Castiel needed to say to have Dean follow him back to Sam. Just in time to watch him collapse against Jessica.

"Almost makes you wonder who paid for Sam's happiness more," Meg pointed out with a sympathetic half smile. She withdrew a cloth from her pocket to clean over the table top, removing the warding sigils he seemed so prone to drawing, "Sam? Or Dean? Sam at least got a happiness that stayed, but Dean? He didn't get one of those. For him his night went from losing his father, to almost losing his brother– You'd almost think this 'thing' fed off more grief than just Sam's."

Because Dean really almost did lose Sammy that night in a two for one special.

Six hits of the inhaler so far and Sam's lips were still on the blueish side by the time Dean got there to find him in Jess's lap, one of her arms around him, the other carding through his hair to offer what comfort she could. His free hand was rubbing firm circles into his spasming diaphragm, lungs rattling something horrible. No one was listening to Jess's desperate cries for help, no one was batting an eye about the boy who could very well die right there on the streets thanks to them.

Between dizzying sobs of grief (because the fourteen year old knew, he just knew in his very bones his dad was dead) that wouldn't have let in enough air even on a good day, Sam was losing his battle because of the people around him. He was  _surrounded_ by people more concerned about the wreck, people that wore clouds of perfume and cologne, not considering how it could set an asthmatic off into a tailspin, and Dean? Without his trademark emergency bag, sirens blaring all around them from police and ambulances alike, he returned from the wreck that had claimed their father to his worst nightmare.

"Dean–! Dee— H-he's—– D-dead—- Dad, Dad is—I-I saw—" Sobs and desperate, broken up little gasps that were giving him less and less air, and here he was wasting what he had to try and tell his big brother what happened.

"God damn it, stop talking. His inhaler. Now!" Sam curled his fingers around air, not having realized that it slipped from his grasp. Dean's form swam in his vision and he tried to apologize for dropping it, but he didn't have enough air to talk. He couldn't breathe and everything was going dark.

"Sam!"

* * *

"Dean did suffer," Novak agreed. No contest. He rose from the table and began pacing from the window to the wall in slow, measured steps. As he paced, his fingers continued to trace in the air. Meg knew the shapes by heart and also knew that they wouldn't do him any good.

"We all did, if you think about it, but we stayed. Jessica stayed," Novak confirmed. His bare feet went pat-pat-pat on the cold tile with each step. "Sam almost died that night, he just couldn't breathe, no one would help, and she stayed by his side with the rest of us. Her first time meeting Dean and she met his rage and his grief and yet still… she stayed. I did try to warn her."

* * *

"Shouldn't it be raining? Why the fuck didn't it rain?"

With the sun shining bright above them, Castiel watched from the front row as Bobby Singer lead the boys away from the casket, now lowered into the ground, and into the detested sun light. They didn't stay to watch dirt be shoveled on top of the of the gleaming walnut finish. They had tossed their roses down and now it was time for them to go. Everyone else remained in their seats out of respect so that they did not get in the way.

"Why are you complaining? The one time you complain about it not raining?" Bobby asked gruffly.

"Because, it's a funeral. It's supposed to rain," Dean sniffed. Bobby drew Dean close. Sam was already held as tightly as Dean dared.

"No one's going to mind if you shed a few tears, boy. I already have myself," Bobby was heard saying gently.

Castiel turned back to the front. Benny was at the grave, giving his respects, whereas Castiel remained in his seat next to Jessica. She was playing with the edge of her dress. He could tell that she had something to say so he waited, watching dirt fall.

"I was afraid to ask… at the hospital. There's no… Mrs. Winchester?" She asked cautiously.

"No. She died a long time ago. Fourteen years ago. To that day as Mr. Winchester's death. As I've said…"

"Sam has had a rough life, I know," she finished for him, soft and less blunt. Castiel nodded firmly.

"Being with him is not easy. It will never be easy."

"Is it worth it? To you? Is it worth being in his life?" She asked.

Castiel looked back at the way Dean's shoulders shook as he walked but also the way he rubbed Sam's back. Dean had almost lost everything in one night but that hadn't sent him running yet. Castiel knew why he stayed because it was the same reason why he did. Castiel addressed Jessica and nodded..

"Yes, it is."

A shadow fell over them.

"You ready to go, blue bird? Our boys need us," Benny dropped his hand to Castiel's shoulder and squeezed. As if he was the one that needed comfort. Castiel was far too used to the chaos of Sam's life to be affected by death. John Winchester's, anyways. Castiel rose.

"My advice? I'd look up mediums before you decide," he leaned down to whisper in Jessica's ear, covering it with a chaste kiss to the cheek. He walked away with Benny, leaving Jessica with the dead man lowered six feet under.

They reached what remained of the Winchester clan between a row of headstones shaded by willow trees. Bobby and Dean talked softly among themselves while Sam remained silent. He hadn't spoken since the night his dad died.

He drew in a shuddery breath when he felt Cas's side brushing against his, eyes slipping closed as a tear found its way onto his cheek where they stood together outside the funeral home. Bobby went inside to finish all dealings with the home, Benny leading Dean off to another side. Castiel was simply there, not expecting Sam to talk or making any indication that he wanted Sam to while Benny and Dean's voices drifted away.

"So you really going to get custody of him?"

"Why wouldn't I? He's my responsibility, Benny. He's my little brother and I have a better chance at getting him than Bobby does. I am not going to let Sam get eaten up by the system. I'm not losing him over this, too," Dean said. Because Castiel was listening to them, he almost missed what Sam said.

"I killed him, Cassy.." Sam whispered, his voice raspy from disuse, a soft wheeze rattling in his chest. "…I killed my dad. I can feel it.. His blood. It's like..it's on my hands."

"No, Sam," Castiel insisted. His hand brushed against Sam's before his locked their pinkies together. "His death was not your fault."

* * *

"I still don't know to this day if I lied to him or not."

Novak stopped and turned around. He stayed by the wall, cutting such a small figure in his white scrubs. He melted into the paint, only the shock of his dark hair and too bright eyes standing out. He looked feral to Meg. An animal trapped in the corner and waiting to strike because he had no other choice.

"Not that it matters, now. He is dead. Maybe even at peace. I can't say for sure," he said and his eyes once more went to the window.

"You cared about him a lot," Meg murmured, so to steer the topic away from Sam being 'dead', as that always seemed to make Novak withdraw from her again. He didn't like to think of Sam being dead, whether because of his guilt, or grief, or both, she hadn't yet figured that part out yet. What she did know was that he took no pleasure in what he had done.

"You'd think you were lovers…" The firelight flickered in her eyes, a spark of curiosity there as she studied his expression for any kind of reaction to her observation. He didn't so much as blink.

"But Jessica decided to stay, then? Even after Sam's vision, and your telling her he's a medium? She decided he was worth it, too?"

Lucky boy, you'd think, or perhaps it was 'unlucky' everyone else, for crossing the kid's path.

Novak watched her again in that eerie way of his, head tilted, eyes half closed to a suspicious squint. He then began to sway on the balls of his feet. Meg counted five rocks before he moved forward. Sometimes his steps were steady and deliberate. Sometimes careful. Right then he glide over the floor silently like a wraith. Not even the chain that connected his cuffs made a sound.

"You're very beautiful," he muttered, breaking his silence, and was followed by a series of sounds. The clink of his chain as he raised his hands, the rasp of his scruff when he scratched it, then the squeak of his foot on the floor when he spun suddenly to face the table. Those manic eyes were right above her. He seemed to see right through. Meg stared back and waited.

"I must have a "thing"," he even made air quotes and smiled absently as if remembering an old joke. "For brunettes. Sam was a brunette. And yes, I loved him. It's why I'm here."

Novak reached down and plucked up the abandoned pudding cup. Her eyes tracked it as he raised it above his head which held back to look at the bottom of it. He looked back down at her and stretched his arm out. Then, like a naughty cat that knew not to tip the glass off of the edge of a table, he dropped the pudding cup onto the floor. It spilled over, the pills yet dissolved revealing themselves in a crime scene of spilling color and crumbling lumps. Meg could lose her job as his nurse if anyone caught her letting him hide his pills and Novak knew it.

Meg didn't react at first. She had never been one to act irrationally or impulsively. Fear never won when it came to her, something that might beg the question, 'why?' The truth of the matter was that she had quite simply beat fear a long time ago and the threat of losing her job wasn't exactly on the list of things that made her quake in her heels at this point.

"Love makes you do crazy things," she agreed, pushing herself up to stand, cloth in hand with the intention of soon cleaning up the crime scene he had created. Not yet, though. Not when he was this agitated and she couldn't guess what his next move might be. "…Love can make you save people…it can make you kill people… It can make you risk things you wouldn't normally risk."

Like a job perhaps, but she didn't say that much, merely left the statement open to interpret it as he would.

Their shadows intermingled on the wall as she took a mindful step closer to him and the mess upon the floor, projecting her movements with care.

"Tell me, Mr. Novak. As flattered as I am that you think me beautiful, are you telling me that you do, as a way of telling me that you wish to kill me, too?"

"I suppose…" Novak's gaze slid down Meg's face to her throat. Her pulse was beating strongly, throbbing strong enough that he should be able to see it. She could feel his eyes seeking it out. Whether he found it or not, his eyes snapped back to hers after a few beats and there was definitely something dangerous in the curious way he tilted his head. "…That depends."

"On?"

Novak stepped back and not one to give up a game, she followed. Step after step, around the table they went. She didn't catch her mistake until his eyes flicked to the side, to where the guard door was no longer in view. Novak had crafted a trap and Meg had stepped right into it. Which she only realized after he had his hands wrapped tight around the collar of her shirt and her back was pressed up against the wall.

"If you're a threat," he growled and his eyes flashed with the streak of lightning that split the sky and swallowed all other lights in it's too bright radiance.

"Who are you really and who do you work for? Answer quickly. I don't want to kill you, but I had never wanted to kill Sam, either."

Meg's breath stuttered in her chest and at least did she feel fear. It was hard not to be afraid when you were sandwiched between a wall and a crazed killer. Even just a day off his meds, and he was so intelligent, knew to keep her out of sight of the guard, knew how to make her pulse race with a mix of excitement, thrill, and a healthy level of fear.

But that was what was so great about it. He was  _magnificent_.

Magnificently terrifying.

She could feel it with the thunder that rumbled in her very chest and it echoed in her eyes, her hands pressed solidly to the wall and not touching him. She did, however, lean into him ever slightly from the curves of her breasts down to her hips, eyes slipping closed.

"If killing me will make you feel at peace, then do it Mr. Novak… But I think you're finding solace in sharing your story with someone who doesn't think you're crazy. Someone who knows the world isn't so black and white."

She drew in a slow breath and opened her eyes to meet his piercing blues, licking her bottom lip.

"I could tell you a lie, that I work for the ghost of Christmas past, or the truth, that I work for Saint Gabriel's, but why would I when you're already making a decision…?" She gave a breathless little chuckle.

Novak's eyes widened and in that moment he looked so young. Younger than he was. A lost boy. But he was hardly a child, was he?

The body that instinctively pressed back against Meg was all man; wiry but strong, and hot against hers they were so close. His breathing quickened, warm breaths ghosting over her lips as if to tease while an erection poked her hip. She couldn't blame him. How long had it been since he was so close to another body and with the air so charged between them? Her quickening pulse sent more than a few throbs between her legs. It was  _intoxicating_.

A dangerous thrill.

"And…" Novak licked his chapped lips, making them all nice and shiny while his eyes slid back to her pulse. It was hammering in her veins, heart doing a good attempt to break out of its cage. All proof that she was living and breathing, though just to help him along she inhaled deeply to brush her breasts against his chest again. His eyes snapped back up to hers, pupils dilated further until the blue was swallowed up in black.

"And what have I decided?"

She was playing with fire, she knew that, he could easily snap her neck on the drop of a dime, and yet that didn't stop her hands from moving from the wall to card through his nest of hair. Nails raked over his scalp on their way to cupping the back of his head. No projection that time, no warning, just her fingers in his hair and her breasts pressing against his chest with every ragged drag of breath as desire swirled like a fire threatening to burn them alive. She tugged him in until her nose was brushing up against the side of his, lips almost trembling where they hovered over his skin, their mouths so close when she answered him with his decision.

"You like me alive. I wouldn't be half as much fun, dead."

Novak growled deep in his chest. It was Meg's only warning before he kissed her. She expected a collision of a kiss, all clacking teeth and bruised lips. Frantic need and no finesse.

What she got was a kiss that made a girl melt, slow but firm. Her lips parted easily under his to give entrance to his searching tongue, happily letting him lead. Novak was a hurricane, sweeping in and sweeping her up, making her all gooey and breathless. Only to release her just as fast. She chased after his sinful mouth but the hands against her sternum kept Meg against the wall. She opened her eyes and soaked in the dazed look and the way he couldn't quite seem to catch his breath. He wasn't the only one.

"I learned that from the pizza man," he said then stepped away from Meg entirely.


	5. Chapter Four: Playing With Fire Is A Dangerous Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can you blame me for wanting to see for myself?" Jess asked. Castiel shook his head.  
> "I admit I am curious but Dean... he's not going to like this."  
> "He doesn't have to find out. He's busy anyways in class and Sam's uncle is at work. Grab that bag," she said, nodding down at the red bag by the door. Castiel peered inside to see a pile of candles and a box of matches. He was unsure of her plan, wary. That didn't stop him from picking up the bag and following Jessica to Sam's house.

So...

That happened.

Even days later, Meg could still feel the ghost of his lips against hers. Could still feel the ghost of the effect of his body heat bleeding into hers while his tongue licked into her mouth and devoured her. His method so...deep and meticulous, spine tingling in a way that ensured her toes were  _still_ curling.

Someone remind her to thank whoever this pizza man was...

"You alright there, Masters?" Audrey asked with a wary glance from her to the dark ward of 696. The power was out again, the spring storm refusing to let off even as they began sliding into summer, and Meg had just recently lit the candles in the hall on the way here, lost to her thoughts.

"Always," the nurse answered with a lazy smile. "May I pass, Gandalf?"

"I guess... Two taps, yeah?" she replied, looking like someone who really wanted to stop being put on night shift.

"Thank you~," Meg hummed just as another blood curdling scream was heard three wards down. She took too much amusement from the way Audrey tensed up and reached for her weapon. At least it kept them on their toes, heh.

Her heels clicked with her steps, candle in hand as she was closed in with the man who today was laying on his bed.

"A change up today, Mr. Novak?" she asked with a slow curve of her lips. Rain continued to fall outside, the firelight alone the only thing illuminating her features and his outline as she approached the bed.

"..May I sit? You never did tell me if Jessica decided to stay. Or if she accepted that Sam was a medium."

Novak's glassy eyes were following something unseen in the shadows above him, flicking to random spots. The room itself smelled sickly sweet, but he didn't seem to notice or care. He wasn't completely gone in the land if the drugged at least, since his body scooted to the side to give her room to join him.

"Jessica. Did you know that she shared a birthday with Dean? She had freckles and green eyes, too. Greenish. Sometimes they appeared blue. Sam liked green best though but she didn't mind. Jessica was... accepting like that."

"So she accepted his abilities then?" Meg prompted in an attempt to keep Novak on track. He turned his head to finally regard her and Meg stared back. She kept her expression open and soft while her feet swung idly. It made the bed squeak and her mind threatened to go back into the gutter.

"Yes," he said. He eyed her neck again, looking for a pulse. He must have found it because he soon closed his eyes and relaxed into the stiff mattress. "Perhaps too accepting."

* * *

**November 30th, 1997**

"I... don't understand."

When Jessica had called him over three weeks after the funeral, he hadn't been expecting the box. It was long, like any board game, but plain, lacking the usual bright artwork designed to catch the eye. It didn't look like the cheap games he had seen in stores. For one, the box was made of wood rather than cardboard. Second, it didn't openly declare what it was. The letters on the top didn't say anything he recognized, and Castiel knew a few languages. He traced the writing burned into the lid and immediately snatched his hand back when touching the box elicited a shiver that slithered down his spine and left him feeling chilled. It just felt… wrong.

"You have no idea how hard it was to track this thing but it's the real deal," Jessica said.

"Because you doubt that Sam is. The real deal," Castiel said.

"Can you blame me for wanting to see for myself?" She asked. Castiel shook his head.

"I admit I am curious but Dean... he's not going to like this."

"He doesn't have to find out. He's busy anyways in class and Sam's uncle is at work. Grab that bag," she said, nodding down at the red bag by the door. Castiel peered inside to see a pile of candles and a box of matches. He was unsure of her plan, wary. That didn't stop him from picking up the bag and following Jessica to Sam's house.

* * *

"I don't know about this..." Sam's misgivings weren't exactly out of left field.

The three of them were all sitting together in the dark on the living room floor with only candle light illuminating the small area. The coffee table was between them all in their little mini circle, the 'game' still in its wood box on the table, unopened. The air itself was ominous. Messing with things you don't understand was always a bad idea...

He kept chewing on his bottom lip, drawing blood now and then.

"Are you guys.." A light wheeze, his breathing so far doing decent 'open straw' quality today, and he had his inhaler on hand in case that changed, "..sure...? If I say I was faking.." Another wheeze. "..and I didn't have any vision..can we not do this?" he asked.

Hopeful, young hazels drifting over to Jess.

"If.. If you find out.. What you're gonna find out, are..you gonna leave..?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Jess asked softly, reaching over the table for Sam's hands. "I just want to see how far these abilities go. It's a good thing to know."

"You might not be a medium in that sense. Maybe you only have visions," Castiel offered.

"True, but there's one way to find out. Besides..." Jess' voice softened and sympathy touched her expression. "What if we contact your dad?"

With that she let go of Sam's hands to open the box. Castiel sent Sam an encouraging nod then watched Jess carefully set the game out. When it came time to placing their hands on the planchette, everyone hesitated.

"Okay. Now take a deep breath," she said and quickly sent Sam an apologetic grimace. "As deep as you can."

Sam's lungs wheezed distressingly as they breathed in unison. Jess looked between them, took another deep breath, then focused on the board.

"Are we alone?" She asked. No sooner than she finished talking, the candles began to flicker. The flames danced as if a breeze had blown over them, but the air was still. Castiel was so enraptured by the flames that he nearly took his hands away when the planchette moved.

"I'm not doing that," he informed them while the planchette moved to NO.

They all looked to each other, then shook their heads in unison. Castiel's heart was pounding in his ears but he could still hear the wheeze in Sam's breathing as it picked up. They were all afraid, but not so much that it kept Sam from speaking.

"Who are you...?"

His wheeze was cut short with his stilling breath when the planchette began to move again.

"M.." he whispered out the letter as they came, the planchette stopping long enough over each for him to name it before continuing on to the next letter, "A.. R.. Y.. ...Mary?"

Sam's hands jerked away from planchette as if it had burned him. His eyes were round and shone wetly while Castiel stared in disbelief. He knew that name from Sam, the name that belonged to a woman Sam didn't remember but loved all the same because of the stories his Dad and Dean had told him.

Mary Winchester.

"...Mom? Show me," he asked, a gentle supplication in his wheezy voice, "..if it's really you show me."

Another breeze washed over them, making the candles flicker. It focused on Sam, blowing through his hair and over his face. Jess and Cas both jerked closer without removing their hands. Castiel's attention was particularly focused on Sam's inhaler. That was, until Sam's eyes rolled to the back of his head and showed only the whites.

"Sam!"

"My sweet boy. My baby boy.. I love you. ..I'm so sorry I couldn't be there in time."

Jessica had been given more than had she bargained for. They all had, but what should they have expected? Castiel had been raised on cautionary tales that warned not to anger his God by messing with the natural order.  _His_ design. Though one would think that it was Jessica that feared the wrath of God by how quick she had been to jump away from the coffee table, hands flying off the planchette. Castiel remained rooted to the spot, staring at milky white eyes.

"This, this isn't possible," Jessica whispered to herself. She was afraid. So was Castiel, but unlike her, he was also excited. Scared, yes, but it was thrilling to him. It wasn't every day that spirits talked to him from beyond the grave.

"In time for what?" Castiel asked as Sam was continued to be rocked by the spirit within him. The wheeze in his lungs was a quiet whistle and Sam's cough was all but gone. A line from a book popped into Castiel's mind. Curiouser and curiouser.

"What are you doing?" Jessica hissed.

"It would be rude not to talk to her. We did invite her after all," he replied. He turned his attention back to Mary.

"Mary?" Those white eyes focused on him and set a chill in his bones. Castiel licked his lips and gathered his courage.

"Um, hi. I am Castiel, this is Jessica. Can you tell us what happened? What weren't you able to stop in time?"

Another breeze cut through the living room. Where the last one had been warm, that one was icy cold and biting. It struck them like an invisible whip and left their skin stinging. The way Sam's features twisted with distress, Castiel didn't think that Mary was to blame. But then that begged the question; who was?

"You shouldn't have done this," Mary said in an eerie voice of hushed tones as if to hide what she was saying from something else. "You are opening doors that should remain closed. Summon spirits no more, Reborn Angel. Never again. You don't know what they are capab-"

Her voice cut off along with Sam's breathing making a choked rattle deep in his lungs, milky whites slipping closed as a slow, lazy smirk found its way onto his face.

"Pesky one, that Mary. But she was right you know..." Eyes opened again and this time there was a dark glint in the whites as they took in first Castiel then Jessica, the mere glance rendering their bodies immobile while the items around the room began to rattle with an ominous, otherwordly sort of energy. "...when you play with fire," it continued in a sing song, speaking just fine, without pauses, even though Sammy's chest was visibly quaking with its terrible breaths, "You get  _burned_."

The flames of the candles flared huge enough to earn a scream out of Jess before every last one of them began to go out, one by one, until the one on the table was the only one left, illuminating Sam's Cheshire grin.

"You find out things, you see.. Things you shouldn't know. Things like Sammy's dreadful fascination with his big brother.." The spirit pooched Sam's bottom lip out, his voice dark with a quiet , devious sort of humor. "What he wouldn't give to have just ~one~ kiss. One taste of what he hears Dean doing to anyone  _but_  him in the next room. Wittle baby Sammy gets so jealous... Do you still like your freak  _now_ , ~Jessie~?"

Jessica's chest heaved with frightened breaths and Castiel could see the cold sweat that beaded her temple. Yet her hands returned to the planchette and she stared down the... thing within Sam. Her earlier fright was being tamed by a dangerous curiosity that Castiel himself felt. A possibly deadly curiosity...

"He's not a freak," Jessica said, brave despite the waiver in her voice. The spirit, though Castiel was more inclined to call it a demon, laughed at her. It was a thick, guttural sound that would have sent Sam into a terrible coughing fit. His body shuddered as though it was impending, stomach muscles spasming.

"Jess, perhaps we should stop," Castiel suggested.

A bead of sweat trickled down his spine and his own hands were clammy. He began to slide his fingers off the planchette when Sam's chest shuddered. His eyes were drawn to the motion, ever fascinated by Sam's condition, and was ashamed by his less than innocent desire to touch Sam.

"This is hurting Sam."

"Is it hurting him?" The being chuckled, uncaring that Sam's body was violently fighting his abuse of his lungs. Uncaring that his lips were turning blue.

"And who's fault is that, pray tell? I didn't pull out this board," it smirked lazily as the sound of an opening drawer was unmistakable. They jumped when a knife flew over to them, but rather cut them, it floated in front of Jess. "... _You_  did, sweet, brave Jessie. There's no stopping ~now~. Aren't you going to prove yourself? Aren't you going to prove you don't think Sammy's a freak? That you ~love~ him?"

The being tilted Sam's head, lips only getting more blue, making his dark smile in the firelight that much more disturbing.

"Show him by giving him what he likes best. ...Sammy loves ~blood~. Makes him ~ _achingly_ ~ hard in his tight jeans. He could spend all day playing with blood... Ask Angel-Boy. He knows all about it." It's eyes fluttered closed for show, licking its blue lips while Sam's chest violently shuddered, diaphragm spasming with coughs Sam's mouth wasn't making. "Cut yourself, if you're brave, Jessie. Cut yourself. Prove he's no freak to you. Quick now, Sammy can't breathe~!"

Jess let go of the planchette and reached for the knife.

"Jessica!" Castiel watched her in stunned horror as she lifted the blade with jerky movements. Her eyes never left Sam's, not even to look down at where she was about to cut. Castiel's heart was thundering, beating so fast he felt light headed. The demon wasn't wrong in the filth that it spouted, things Sam had never wanted anyone else to know. It had been between him and Castiel.

"Jessica, don't!"

He jerked his hands and for a moment they refused to leave the planchette. The tip of the blade touched Jess' skin and Castiel put all of his strength in the struggle. Finally the invisible hold released him, sanding Castiel flying backwards. He caught himself, hands scraping against the rough rug, while the demon, which should have been  _dispelled_ , laughed. The sound grated, hurt his ears and made his head throb, but still Castiel reached for Jessica to make her stop. They couldn't give into the demon. They had to make the séance stop.

"What the fuck!?"

Light flooded the room and stabbed him in the eyes like needles. He cried out and looked away as Jessica gasped above him. Dean ran inside, his pounding feet making the floor quake under Castiel's hands.

"Sammy? What did you guys  _do_? Sam! Come on, baby boy, breathe!" As Dean rushed for Sam's inhaler, Castiel looked up at Jessica. Their eyes met. She looked as stricken as he felt, and as equally terrified. What  _had_  they done?

* * *

Sam felt like he had been hit by an  _18-wheeler_ , his chest feeling bruised  _all over_ , aching painfully with every shuddered attempt at breathing he made between ragged, weak coughs that didn't have the strength to bring in the amount of air his spinning head needed. For all intents and purposes, he shouldn't be awake. He knew this intuitively, knew what this sluggish feeling in his limbs meant, was all too familiar of the effects of oxygen deprivation. ...He should be dead.

And yet here he was, struggling lungs being given another dose of Albuterol before arms were cradling him close as if he was something precious. ...Dean, his dazed mind whispered as coughed a little stronger into his brother's familiar chest, curled up on his lap… on the floor..?

"I said  **now**! Throw it in the fireplace, dammit!" Dean's furious voice ordered through the haze, bemusement filtering through Sam's cloudy consciousness. It was too loud. His head hurt, throbbing persistently at his temples. Everything hurt. Why?

What happened?

He would've asked but he didn't have enough air to yet and so he just struggled to wheeze through the pain and cough, dazed hazels blinking open to stare up into worried greens that were finally looking down at him.

Dean.

Sam didn't know what happened, but what he did know was that he was safe now. Dean saved him. Dean always saved him... Always.

"W..hat.. 'ppend? H..urts..breathe.." he managed in the end, only for another round of coughs to wrack his abused lungs, pale fingers curling in the fabric of Dean's shirt.

"Yeah, I know. Just don't stop doing it, okay?" Dean implored softly, gentle with Sam when he had nothing but cold, hard stares for Jess and Cas. Sam was jostled slightly as Dean leaned forward to grab something. The room was filled with a low, familiar hum and Dean was soon fitting a mask over Sam's face now that the nebulizer was warmed up.

"But Dean..." The softness in Dean's eyes faded and his head snapped to stare Cas down. The littlest Lafitte wasn't one to be cowed easily, but he flinched at Dean's growl. Jess took a step back while Cas gripped the box in his hands tighter.

"Cas, so help me God if I have to get off of this couch and do it myself, you two will never see Sam again because we will be out of this town so  _fast_!"

"You can't!" Jessica protested.

"You won't," insisted Castiel. "Your father moved here so Sam can get the best care. You won't take him out of Sioux Falls."

"You really wanna risk that, Cas? Look, I don't know what you kids are smoking or drinking these days, but next time you involve my brother, we will leave. Now throw that goddamn thing in the fire!"

"We were sober. I swear!"

"You really think I believe that you dumbasses called on spirits from beyond the grave that then possessed my  _brother_? Throw. It. Into. The. Fire."

"If you didn't believe, then why do you want us to burn it?" Cas said. Dean snarled and began to ease Sam off of his lap. Cas let out a shocked noise when Jess grabbed the box out of his hands and chucked the ouija board into the roaring fire. The logs spat and sparked in protest while the box slowly began to catch. Dean settled back down into the couch and continued to comb his fingers through Sam's hair, gently easing the gnarls from his hair being sweat damp.

"Now was that so hard?"

* * *

"Dean never quite trusted me after that," Novak said. He sighed deeply and turned to his side. Meg tensed slightly when he reached for her, but she held herself still, breath held in anticipation of what he was going to do. His fingertips found the sliver of skin that peeked from her scrub top riding up and he began to trace the skin, his fingers ice cold and nails a little too sharp. Another reminder that Novak needed some major grooming.

"He didn't like leaving me alone with Sam. We almost thought that he was going to move Sam in with him when we moved to Stanford, until he found out that we were going to get a third room mate. As it was, he did not take well to Sam and I sharing a room the second time we went back. I suppose... that Dean had reason to worry."

"Well considering your track record up to that point," Meg tacked on with a half-chuckle to mask the way heat coiled between her thighs at his touch. She didn't scare easy, but there was just something about him. The dangerousness that shrouded him that made her heart race with something like fear. The only difference was that it didn't affect her the way fear affected other people. Something she needed to get a handle on. All the same, the brushing of his ice cold fingers over her warm skin drew a shiver from her and the way his eyes chose that moment to meet hers said he knew full well.

Intelligent indeed.

She cleared her throat and let her hand find his. Touch without permission to show him she knew some things as well, such as his having no intention to lash out at her. Not really.

"I'm sure you didn't prove yourself that second time to pacify him, either. ...You attract trouble in far too many ways, Novak."

* * *

**December, 2001**

"Stop looking at us..." Sam's wheeze was better now that the dust had settled and they were upstairs picking rooms, his grin full of cheeky dimples just for Dean, "...like that. We've  _gotta_ share... Cas doesn't wanna sleep with... Cassie."

Speaking of the ringlets-of-hell, she pushed passed them all down the hall for the room she was calling dibs, not even speaking to them now since her 'dust fight' with Dean. It was going to be a long five days up here.

"We'll be good. ...Promise."

For right now anyway. No promises after they all got drunk because of course downstairs Victor was lugging in all the booze he had bought for them on the way up.

"I forgot the ouija board so we will behave," Castiel deadpanned, which was likely not in his best interest. Dean spun around and got right in his face, but after years of dealing with Sam's own personal guard dog, Cas didn't so much as blink. It was Dean's own fault for always using that incident against him, placing all of the blame of Sam's near meeting with death on him. So Cas fought back when he could and Sam would never intervene.

"If your brother was here..." Cas did not let Dean finish that thought. He shoved past Dean and into the room with his  _and_  Sam's luggage to claim it.

"He's not, so there is no point mentioning it. Besides, Benny didn't keep me in check as much as you'd like to think. Where do you think we got the pot first semester? It was a graduation gift."

"The what?" Dean squawked. Winking at Dean, Sam slid into the room and slammed the door on Dean's face. His smile didn't last long however. It never could when Benny's ghost was shoved at Cas like that..

"Unpack and then get stinking drunk?" Cas suggested at the foot of the bed, his tensed back to Sam. Two rooms had double beds, two had only one queen sized. But Sam wasn't thinking about sleeping arrangements and sharing a bed with Cas. He was more worried about his friend whom was placing their bags on the bed.

Cas wasn't a very 'expressive' person to most people, and he could be more stoic than anyone when he wanted to be, but Sam only had to think of how he himself would feel in Cas's shoes to know that he was hurting.

Next to Sam, Benny had been Cas's best friend, and he had lost him. Lost his big brother.

That was what brought arms that wrapped around the blue eyed teen from behind, Sam's chest pressing solidly against the other's back, cheek coming to rest atop his shoulder.

"M'sorry about him, Cassy. He doesn't think before… he talks. Wish... Wish none of it had… ever happened."

* * *

"So things weren't one sided. Good to know," Meg admitted with a little laugh, checking her watch for the time and sighing. She needed to get to her rounds. "I was starting to think you cared more about Sam than he cared about you."

But it, if nothing else, proved that their feelings had been mutual as far as caring for one another went. Cas had loved Sam. ...But Sam had also loved Cas. It was nice to hear, for Cas's sake.

Shaking her head, Meg pushed herself neatly up to her feet, candle yet in her free hand. Cas didn't say a word and his hand went limp, sliding freely out of hers. He was watching the flame but there wasn't much going on behind his eyes. The lights were on, but no one was home.

"I've got to get to my rounds, Mr. Novak, but next time you can tell me how boozing went in that cabin, hmm?"


	6. Chapter Five: Save the Ghost Stories for the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Shh, Cas," she whispered, using his name for the first time as she turned her head to steal a kiss from the corner of his soft mouth, "rain check on Sam's blood fixation and how you let him. I would ~love~ to know, really I would, but not on my day off. Promise you will later?" she purred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all Megstiel goodness

"I don't often see you this time of day."

The name Jack declared the middle aged man with more girth around his belly than muscles in his arms. Audrey was built to take people down, but Jack was your stereotypical, past his prime security guard. Meg knew the type and knew that half the time if she checked, he wouldn't be at his post. That worked just fine for Meg that sunny afternoon.

"I come bearing gifts," she said, indicating her basket. "All approved, of course."

Jack hummed and barely glanced at the basket before letting her pass inside. The ward was a lot different in the day, almost airy and peaceful. The crosses were in full few, brass and gilded and sort of in your face. No wonder Novak avoided the ward's common area as much as possible during the day.

Not that he had a choice, now. She walked into his room to a freshly cleaned figure and the smell of antiseptic. He was strapped to his bed, scruffy but in new scrubs and smelling like their antibacterial soap. His eyes were closed but the scowl that marred his features was a good indicator that he was, in fact, awake.

"They cleaned. I didn't ask them to clean," he said darkly and then opened his hands. Inside of one were the pills, slightly wet from being held under his tongue, and the other… a dead bee.

"For you," he said.

"It is the first of the month," Meg pointed out with an amused quirk to her lips, not that she expected Novak to be keeping track of the time and dates. "They would've cleaned even if you told them not to…" It was just the rules after all. They couldn't trust the patients not to be hiding things they might've acquired, like unconsumed pills (which she scooped out of his hand and placed in her basket), as well as…

A bee?

She blinked a few times, her smile softening into something more genuine as she set the basket down on the nightstand and accepted the dead bumblebee from his palm. The stinger was gone.

"Oh? Thank you~. You let this sting you… for me?" she asked him, inspecting the bee, finger feeling over the stingerless bottom. He had caught this bee with his bare hands. …For her.

"I'm flattered~. …I brought you a few gifts, myself, if you promise to be good when I unstrap you."

"The bee would have killed Sam. I am not allergic." He showed her his palm and the angry, raised welt right in the meat under his thumb. There were no signs of him being in pain, and judging by the glassy sheen of his eyes, he likely wasn't. Novak was at least lucid, enough for Meg to give him his gifts. Provided that he promised or could stop thinking about Sam for five minutes to receive them.

Everything came back to Sam, didn't it? But that was to be expected, really. Even if Novak wasn't exactly insane (not to her, anyway, she was sure he wasn't schizophrenic), he was suffering a heavy case of PTSD, and his focal point within all of that was Sam. It wasn't something that was going to change any time soon, and that was okay… Sam was who she wanted to know more about anyway.

But those stories could continue another time, because for today…

"What kind of gifts?" He asked suspiciously. Meg turned away, deliberately keeping her back to him. First she tucked the dead bee into her pocket and then began to lay the contents of her basket out on the table. She could hear him straining against the straps to see what she was doing, but the only hint he was given was her pouring water from a thermos into a bowl. That ensured that he got hot water whereas the facility's heater could not be trusted.

"~You have to promise~," she reminded him. The bed squeaked as he laid back down and sighed.

"Fine. I promise. What gifts?"

"You have to keep that promise to get all your gifts," she pointed out, leaving the bowl of hot water to slowly cool to warm while her heeled feet clicked across the floor to better reach the edge of the bed to gain access to his straps. If she had to lean over him and accidentally show cleavage in this loose cut scrubs top, it wasn't exactly on purpose, just a byproduct of circumstance.

"Sit over here in this chair by the nightstand and give me your hand," she instructed him so she could better have access to the nail clippers and nail filers and afterwards… her razor and shaving cream.

"Your first gift is going to be cleaning you up, and seeing who's beneath all this scruff and grime build up. I'm ~very~ curious. You see…" she continued with a lazy smirk, "there's some symbolism in it. I'm clean but kind of dirty…tainted, and you're kind of tainted..but also quite clean, and that balance is  _all_ manner of hot."

"I haven't been clean for a long time," he muttered but like a good boy Novak sat down and gave her his hands. She could feel his eyes on her every move, especially when she grabbed the nail clippers. He watched, looking fascinated, while Meg got to work on those talons of his. She would have been surprised that no one else had clipped them, but no one approached Novak without two orderlies, a taser, and enough medication to drug an elephant. No one but Meg.

"Did you… want me to continue?" He asked dubiously. Clip, clip, clip, she got the first hand cut down in no time. Shaking the clipper, she then replaced it with the file.

"Nope. This is your treat for what you have told me. You've been such a good boy already," she purred. His pale neck darkened and his eyes were a little more clear when he regarded her. He didn't say anything, but there was an unmistakable heat in his eyes. She moved on to the other hand, giving it the same careful treatment, then was soon rising from her crouch to replace the emery board with the scissors. And oh how those blues widened when he saw the sharp blade. Desire. Sexual or homicidal? It was a toss up. What Meg did know was that he liked pointy things and she liked that about him.

"Now be a good boy and don't squirm. We don't want to accidentally cut you, do we?" She asked. Novak didn't even try to hide his whimper. Smirking, Meg grabbed the comb and got to work.

"There is a pretty boy under there after all, isn't there?" Meg purred, running her fingers through Novak's freshly cleaned, cut hair. The shag was gone, replaced by a tame nest of appealing spikes that she wanted nothing more than to mess up. To run her fingers through over and over.

"Your hair's so much more grabable now. Enticing," she murmured, abandoning his hair to tip his scruffy face back towards her, the backs of her hands drifting down his cheeks from behind, a quiet heat in her own eyes, "Imagine how you'll look shaved. If you enjoy it, I'll shave you more often…"

With his head tilted back she was able to lather on with a brush some of the old fashioned shaving cream. His cheeks, his chin, his neck, his throat, sideburns, and around his mouth.

She could feel his eyes boring into her when she went for the blade, flicking it neatly open, sunlight glinting off the silver.

"I'm going to need you to hold very still– Remember, if you want your last gift you have to be very good."

But ohh the way his eyes fluttered closed with a near soft moan when the cold metal touched the skin of his throat and scraped upwards was more than enough to make the whole action of shaving him erotic. She could feel the electricity in the air between them.

She had his life in her hands. One slip, and his throat would be slit.

There was no coming back from that, and Novak seemed to enjoy dancing in the edge of life and death. Was it because  _Sam_ had danced on the edge of life and death his whole life?

He was a morbid thing after all. Who else would sigh as he exhaled with each scrape of the blade slicing over his skin? Just one wrong move, a careless flick of the wrist, and he would bleed out before anyone noticed. Meg could practically hear Novak think the same thing as he vibrated under his skin. She was half prepared for him to jerk just to make that true.

But he was a good boy, sitting so still for her as Meg cut away a year's worth of growth. She took her time, making a ritual out of each scrape. The sunny late morning was filled with the sounds of rough scraping, the splash of washing hair and lather, the clink of the straight razor against the bowl, and his soft sighs. It created it's own soundtrack for the occasion, one that Meg enjoyed. And then she decided to change things up a little.

There was just the last bit of stubble under his chin that she had missed. Firmly grasping the other side of his face, Meg brought the razor to his throat. His breathing was harsh, hot pants escaping his nose. Her thumb brushed over his pink mouth as she slowly dragged the blade over his skin. At the very edge of his jaw, with the last bit of hair gone, she let the blade catch on his skin. The desired effect was immediate.

Novak whimpered prettily and his thin pants bulged at the crotch. Meg caressed his lips and leaned in closer to watch bright red blood form a perfect bead that clung to his jaw. He was positively trembling beneath her.

"Don't let it fall and stain your clean clothes," she ordered airily. He whimpered again and brought shaking hands to his chin. His eyes opened to see the drop; they were already darkened with lust. Meg turned away to clean the razor and grab a cloth while he stared at the drop of blood staining his fingers.

"Was…" His voice was gravel rough and it shot straight down Meg's spine to pool hot in her throbbing cunt. "That the gift you promised?"

"Mmm, no," Meg hummed, dumping the contents of the bowl down the drain, watching hair and lather swirl and flow down..down.. Washing away any evidence he had ever had a beard. Her lips curved, setting her clean tools back into her basket and grabbing her hand mirror as she stepped back around to hold it in front of the young man who likely hadn't seen himself in over a year….

Nor had he had a woman drape herself around his shoulders from behind, her lips at his ear as she let him see himself, hot breath and teeth ghosting over cartilage.

"These are just bonuses for being good. Perks, if you will. All the more reason to keep being good."

She paused there, still holding the mirror in one hand while her other slid down his arm to his hand that was blood stained. She let him watch through the mirror with those lust blown blue eyes while she brought his fingers to her mouth, lips parting to suckle the blood off with a soft, breathy sound of pleasure, tongue swirling sinfully.

The metallic taste was right up her alley.

"Not that being bad sometimes isn't fun," Meg purred when she pulled her mouth off with a soft, 'pop.' His eyes fluttered shut on a chesty groan of sheer want as his hands jumped down to squeeze himself through his scrubs. Meg's grin was manic in her reflection, blood stained as it was.

"I… I told Sam that it wasn't bad. After I found out. He insisted that it was, but I pushed…. I was curious and he  _wanted_ …" Novak began, words broken by his panting.

Her actions produced the desired results, Novak was so worked up he was losing it, gripping himself like that just to try and not shoot for her, mmm. And yet there he went, trying to talk about Sam again, as if all she wanted was stories and that was why she was being so indulgent…

"Shh, Cas," she whispered, using his name for the first time as she turned her head to steal a kiss from the corner of his soft mouth, "rain check on Sam's blood fixation and how you let him. I would ~love~ to know, really I would, but not on my day off. Promise you will later?" she purred.

Another kiss to the corner of his mouth and in the mirror's reflection and she drew away from him to put the mirror away and get his last gift. All he would hear were her heels clicking across the floor on her way to the basket and back again, a potted plant in her hands, blue carnations with white rims promising some much needed color in his lone room.

"You can stand up now," Her smile then was more genuine. Softer, no sultry hint to it. She was just a young woman, giving the young man she was visiting a present. "I thought your room could use some color. …Thought you might like that. You can pick where it goes."

Perhaps there was a touch of cruelty forcing Novak to shift gears so quickly. He had been putty in her hands, confused at first and then yearning after her for more than a teasing kiss at the corner of her lips. The importance of being there on her day off hadn't been lost on him and she could only imagine the kind of things that spun in his head on how she planned on spending the rest of her time with him. Just for her to throw that curveball at him.

Novak stood, stunned, his focus solely on the plant in her hands. Glassy eyes turned wet and his mouth was slightly parted. Frankly looked as if he was going to cry.

"Carnations. Jess and Dean's birth flowers were carnations. We put them on her casket instead of roses," he whispered, sounding hollow. Then he pointed to the window sill without once reaching for the plant himself.

"There. In the sun. Bees like blue flowers."

"And what about you? Don't you like your gift?" Meg mock pouted, walking around him to place the pot on the sill as instructed. She felt his presence loom over her back, suddenly close enough that she felt the heat that came off of him.

"Oh, yes. Very much."

Slowly as to telegraph her movements, Meg turned around, unsure of his mental state. He didn't leave her in the dark for long though, grabbing her as soon as she turned around. Strong hands wrapped around her neck, the cold chain pressed at her throat, and she was slammed up against the wall. Her head had been kept safe, his fingers taking the blunt, but the impact knocked the air from her lungs in a gasp. Stealing her breath seemed to be the intent, seeing as how he then swooped in and kissed her wet and deep, as if to leave his claim on her.

"You called me Cas," he panted against her lips, body pressed hotly against hers.

A sound escaped her into his kiss, a ragged little moan of a breath before her hands were jumping up to tangle in his soft spiky hair with an, "Am I not allowed? I'm not working, Cas… And you're _fascinating_."

It was the truth. He captivated her, his danger /enticed/ her, and yes…ohhhyes, she wanted to be here on her day off. Something she proved in the way she was crushing their mouths together to show him he wasn't the only one who knew how to kiss well. Oh no, her tongue knew a few tricks itself and as hers chased his to capture and suck..or mapped his mouth with the purpose of short circuiting his mind, the soft lines of her warm body pressing back against his.

"I could always," she panted in a soft wheeze into his mouth, "call you bumble bee, I suppose."

She couldn't really breathe well but that was the point, wasn't it? He wanted to hear her wheeze from the pressure of the chain at her throat, he wanted to feel her chest spasm in the way she was figuring out he truly relished.

It shouldn't send heat straight through to her wet cunt the way that it did, but no one got to decide their kinks.

"You could," he conceded with a hard nip to her bottom lip that left it stinging deliciously. He leaned back in, only to brush his lips over hers and fought against Meg trying to pull him back in. It went to show just how clever he was despite the lingering drugs in his system that he could tease her. That he had the mind to tease her at all and clearly enjoy it. He had a sharp, calculative mind, which everyone else no doubt feared. But then, they had reason to.

"I prefer Cas. But…" Cas shoved the chain up and she choked on her own spit. Meg's hands yanked on his hair and she bucked against him. His eyes were flames, the kind of fire that  _purged_ , as they bore into hers. "Cas is not usually the shortened form of Casey."

He spoke in a growl and pressed the chain harder, completely cutting off her air before he gave enough slack that had her wheezing and shuddering, but it was the coughing fit that he seemed to enjoy the most. He pressed her harder against the wall, feeling her strangled gasps and coughs with his whole body while he waited for an explanation.

If she had had any doubt before now, or perhaps a flicker of internal guilt before now, over maybe just maybe taking advantage of a semi-drugged patient, Novak went and proved more than ever that he was in full control of his mental faculties. He was no fool. He was no drugged up mass of limbs that ate, shit, and slept, oh no. He proved all over again how vast his intelligence stretched, how clever he could be, how  _sharp_.

He was a knife and he knew how to cut.

He was strangling her, controlling her breathing with his chain while he burned her alive with the fire in his eyes. Her life was very much in his hands now, every cough, every shudder, every strangled gasp and wheeze as her pulse raced was in his hands, and if her panties hadn't been wet before? They sure as hell were now.

She was aching between her thighs, heart trying valiantly to escape through her chest, a near whine passing her lips when he allowed it. It was an intoxicating /thrill/ to feel both all at once, her body arching against his, fingers flexing desperately in his hair as she wheezed and rasped out an airy, strained,

"S-Sam– you said– Sam called you Cassy– You told me– So I looked– Social Security– record changes– Just wanted…know you better–"

"Aren't you clever," he breathed and cut off her airways again. Meg's body jolted, electrified, and her eyelids slid shut. Spots danced before her eyes but just before she grew too dizzy he let off. Meg choked for breath, wasting precious air to moan for him. When he strangled her again, his actions were less abrupt and more slow, telegraphed. She opened her eyes to let him watch her face while his mouth moved. She could just make out him counting. At twenty, he released her and pressed his hands to her breasts to feel her wheezing coughs.

"Why do you want to know me?" He asked. His hands slid up her chest and went back for her neck. Meg tipped her head back and offered her bruised, abused throat to him. It might have been the lack of air, but she didn't imagine the way he caressed her sore skin before the chain fit itself around her throat again.

"For money? Kicks? What's in it for you?"

It was like his actions had a direct line to her sex, every harder press of the chain making her throb for him. She was high off the pain, heat building low in her belly, coiling tighter and tighter even without him truly touching her. If he didn't stop, between wheezing, wrecked coughs and his feeling over sensitive breasts in his effort to absorb her quaking diaphragm, she was going to see stars instead of spots.

Was that twisted? Was it disturbed? She couldn't bring herself to care, completely enraptured by him.

"Kindred–morbid spirit–" she gasped out only to cough these strangled, choked coughs, shuddering hard against him, her fingers flexing that much tighter in his hair in supplication, so close. "A friend–"

Or whatever else he wanted, in that moment she would be whatever he wanted, just let her come.

"You're getting off on this," he correctly surmised. There was a wild hunger in his eyes as they roamed over her body. Eating her up with just his gaze, all because he loved the way her body moved when she struggled to breathe.

"Gold… star…" she wheezed and the chain cut off her air once more. But what really got her was the chuckle her response got out of him. It was the first time she heard Cas laugh and he even let her feel it when he kissed her hard. He swallowed down her choked gasps, laughter dying and instead moaning for her and licking past her lips and stealing the breath from her lungs.

Meg was squirming by that point, begging through tiny little whimpers that cut through her choking gasps. Cas took pity on her by lifting Meg up along the wall, choking her harder than before. Her legs locked around his slender waist instinctively and he rewarded her by grinding against her and letting Meg get a good idea of what she was going to be imagining fucking her through a mattress for weeks to come.

Meg's vision greyed, her lungs burned and a primal panic began to grip her. She thrashed between him and the wall. She was lightheaded and growing more so. She gripped the chain but was too weak and panicky to get a hold. She barely even felt him pull away from the kiss, lightly to watch her lips go blue as her vision darkened..

"Will you come for me?" He whispered so sweetly and released the too tight grip around her throat.

It was like an eruption. Pleasure ricocheted through her wrecked system in time her desperate, lung rattling gasps of life-giving air. She was almost convulsing with it, and if it wasn't for Cas capturing her mouth right then to muffle and swallow her wheezing cry of euphoria, she honestly might've lost her job that day, too.

Meg's eyes fluttered open to the sensation of a cold rag wiping over her neck. She was lying down in his bed, something hard with a little give under her head. His thigh, she realized when she looked up and saw those baby blues looking down at her. A drop of water slid down her neck and behind her shoulder and Meg shuddered.

"You might want to wear a scarf for a few days," he said. He twisted at the middle to put the wash rag down on the table to free his hand so he could rake his fingers through her sweat matted hair. Seeing Cas go from choking her until she came to this sweet boy was a bit dizzying.

"You still have time to get one, if it really is your day off."

"Might have.." Meg murmured breathily, voice on the raspy side and that made her lips quirk, "..to do that."

He was looking at her so differently now. The crazed fire in his eyes was gone, a gentleness having replaced it that he was stroking her hair so softly. It was dizzying, but an interesting change. Mr. Novak had many layers and she was enjoying exploring them with him.

"For today, thank you for.." A slow breath, her eyes slipping closed, "..no stories." Just time spent. It had been what she wanted…and what he needed. She knew that.

"You're pretty strong, bumble bee."

"My brother was a wrestling champion in high school. When he wasn't practicing on Dean, he practiced on me," Cas explained. His lips pulled in a shrug and he tugged on a knot to get it to loosen. Meg made a face at the spark of pain and his screwed up in apology.

"Sorry. I… forgot how to do this. I'm not even sure what we're doing."

"Relaxing, bumblebee. That's what we're doing. We're relaxing."

"Oh. Okay. I think I can do that."


	7. Chapter Six: Burn so Sweet I Forget to Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I do and I know the perfect game we're playing!" Charlie jumped out of her chair and plucked Victor's beer bottle away. Despite his protest, she drunk the rest down and then proceeded to hold up the bottle in the air. "Spin the bottle! Every loser on the floor, I get first spin!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet, sexy Wincest at last! And a healthy dose of Sastiel.

"Nice scarf." Audrey's key ring clinked and clacked while callused fingers sought out the one to ward 696. Her brown hair was windswept and the heavy scent of tobacco clung to her uniform. And yet Audrey still looked like she could use a smoke.

"Have you seen Dr. Adler yet today? He's been singing your praises all weekend. He even changed up Novak's meds and lowered the doses. Though I'm not too sure I agree with the decision."

Meg adjusted her dark blue scarf with with an amused curve of her lips, countering with a lofty, "Who do you think suggested it as a good idea?" to answer her question.

Of course she had seen the doctor, who else would have advised lessening Novak's doses? Adler loved her after all, that pesky, pudgy little man… He was irritatingly 'invested' in Novak's 'breakthrough'. One could hope the novelty would wear off, but she doubted that it would for him, he hung on to every word she said.

"Not all who wander are lost, Audrey," she reminded with a pat of her free hand to the guard's shoulder, leaving the ambiguous statement as is while she stepped into the open door to the ward, her candle illuminating her way.

"…Two taps, Masters," came the woman's bemused, wary response. She really was too stressed for this job, wasn't she? Meg merely gave her a two finger salute and walked into the ward. Cas was waiting for her, as always, at the round table outside of his room. "I hear you've gotten many a compliment today," Meg hummed, her heels clicking with care across the room so he would know she was approaching. "From nervous personnel, but still, I'm rather proud of my handiwork~. You look quite handsome."

"Dr. Adler took my photo today. He says that he is writing a book. I don't know how the two are related," Cas said. He was moving pieces around the table, making a picture out of checker pieces rather than play the game by himself. Unsurprising, it looked kind of like a bee.

Her expression shadowed at the mention of Dr. Adler writing a book, grip tightening ever slightly on the candle before she was setting it down upon the sill so she could take her seat across from him. Where she normally would've smiled or smirked over the bee picture he had made, she was still frowning, none too pleased.

"He  _thinks_ he's writing a book," she corrected Cas with a subtle shake of her head, leaning forward until her elbow was resting on a clear part of the table, cheek in her hand. "But it won't get far, papers can get…lost."

His story wasn't one the world needed to know about. Just wouldn't bode well now would it? Dr. Adler could forget about trying to get a quick buck off her favorite patient. Not that Cas was really paying attention.

"Did you know that some believe that cameras steal your soul? My mother wasn't fond of them," he said,

He continued to slide a piece, a red one, down the table until he picked it up to set it down. It became an eye, a single drop of red surrounded by black. Once satisfied, he looked up at Meg. His eyes were slightly dilated but otherwise appeared clear.

"Oh?" she snorted, her lips finally curving into a hint of something better than a frown at his comment, reaching over to trace a finger over the bee. "So I take it no one took pictures on your trip, then? I thought… Charlie, was it? Didn't she have a camera?"

"Mother was dead by then. She killed herself," Cas said plainly. He glanced down at his bee, particularly to her finger on a checker. Careful not to mess his picture up, he traced his fingers down hers and then where her finger met the piece. Meg took her hand back and Cas plucked the last piece she touched away, leaving the bee with a gaping hole in his head. Cas tucked the piece into his left cuff.

"Besides, Charlie's camera burned with the fire. Everything burned."

* * *

**December, 2001**

"God that burns," Charlie shuddered. Castiel made a face of agreement as his own shot went down, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Sam's lips quirked, earning a hard stare from Cas. When Charlie poured them another shot, he took it like it was a personal challenge only to cough. Sam wheezed a laugh at him before his attention was stolen elsewhere.

"That's why we buy cheap whiskey. Gotta love the burn," Dean said. Castiel glanced at the couch where Dean was sprawled out, Cassie in his lap. They had made up earlier, loudly, and were now passing a bottle of Jack Daniels between them and Jo. A bump to Sam's shoulder had him jumping and meeting Cas's knowing look with guilt for getting caught staring at Dean's throat as he swallowed his whiskey down.

"So I believe someone mentioned games," Victor said. He was sitting at the table with Sam and Castiel, hoarding the beer. The tequila was being held captive by Kevin on the staircase.

"I'm not playing, whatever the game is," Kevin said moodily. "Bunch of adults playing drinking games?"

"Says the college student! Seriously, do you guys not know what fun is?" Dean asked.

"I do and I know the perfect game we're playing!" Charlie jumped out of her chair and plucked Victor's beer bottle away. Despite his protest, she drunk the rest down and then proceeded to hold up the bottle in the air. "Spin the bottle! Every loser on the floor, I get first spin!"

"Spin the Bottle? How old are you, seven?" Kevin complained dryly from the stairs, turning the page of the book he was reading, the tequila safely next to him where he had squirreled it away as far as Sam could tell.

"Don't be a spoil..sport," he chuckled, the sound accompanied by an wheezy little whistle from his lungs, but his little laughs rarely came without that. "If your girlfriend had..wanted to come, I ~bet~.. you'd totally play with us."

If anything Sam was just glad for the distraction from the sight of Dean's drinking another swig of whiskey. Watching his adam's apple didn't do him any favors, nor did imagining what his blood would taste like full of alcohol. Because that was totally what normal tipsy people thought about… Why was this his life? Dean was fucking Cassie thirty minutes ago, get it together, Winchester.

He was only on his… what? Third beer? Not that it helped that Sam was a lightweight.

Another bump to his shoulder from Cas had him coming back from his thoughts, offering his best friend a sheepish smile as he finally got his ass in gear so they could follow Charlie's lead and make their way to the genuine bear rug on the floor, cups of beer in hand.

As fun as Whiskey might be, the burn and cough weren't really up Sam's alley.

"So rules," Jo was saying with huge grin, almond colored eyes already glassy with alcohol when she plopped down next to Charlie while Cas helped Sam lower himself down to sit side by side with him, "No matter WHO the bottle lands on, you have to kiss them for at least 30 seconds, 2 minute maximum. No ifs, ands, or butts, got that? If you try and worm out of it, you're agreeing to have your underwear stuffed with snow for five minutes straight."

"Dean and I might go ~way over~ that maximum cap," Cassie purred, still seated on his lap, her fingers playing with the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

Sam rolled his eyes, lungs rattling lightly with his huff, sharing look with Cas.

"Do that. …Fives minutes with snow becomes ten."

"You'll take one for the team, right?" Dean turned hopeful eyes on Cassie to the dulcet sounds of Kevin gagging on the stairs. She gave her answer by shoving at his face and laughing.

" _Both_ will have to suffer the snow undies. Now," Charlie bent forward and placed the bottle in the center. To increase the anticipation, she looked up to wink at the circle and then she gave the bottle a spin.

The game was about what anyone could expect at first. They were all too drunk to not jeer or hoot when the bottle landed on someone, no matter who it was. To be fair, the first spin had landed on Jo, and well, no one cared to count the minutes that passed when Jo got over her surprise and got into the kiss. It had certainly been an interesting way to get the game started.

There was a lull after that. The bottle then went to Cas, who didn't seem to mind that Jo didn't give him the allotted thirty seconds, and then on Victor, who, again, tried to get out of the minimum. When he spun the bottle next and it landed on Dean, they were both enthusiastic in their volunteering of shoving snow down their underwear, especially Victor who was already heading for the door.

"I'll stuff snow down my pants if you idiots would  _stop_ ," Kevin slurred from the stairs.

"We'll just… null! Spin it, Dean-o!" Charlie declared before she slugged back half of her cup. Throwing a wink at Cassie, Dean bent forward to spin the bottle.

Then things got interesting. The bottle landed on Sam.

Sam was lucky he had just swallowed the last bit of his fourth red solo cup of beer, because he would've sprayed them all.

Hell, the sound he had made alone would've sent him into a coughing fit if it wasn't for Cas's hand instinctively being there to rub his back to pacify his lungs, his own hand jumping up to press a steadying hand to his own chest. He felt hot all over, heat creeping up his neck, his cheeks, and it wasn't just be the alcohol warming his veins.

Hazels met the greens that had snapped to his in that moment, diaphragm shuddering with his rattled breath. Don't look at his mouth. Don't look at his mouth. Anywhere but hit mouth.

Sam looked at his mouth.

His own went dry and he swallowed hard. He was drunk, he had to be drunk because why else would he risk a stupid, dimply smile and a roll of his eyes to try and play off the nerves and anticipation fluttering in his stomach.

"Yeah, right. We all know.." A wheeze and an airy half-laugh, "Dee doesn't have the balls. Go n'..snow it up, man."

He wished his heart would stop pounding.

"Hey, I got the balls. Just ask Cassie," Dean said, puffing up like a presenting peacock. The jesting suddenly got quiet when they realized that Dean was already going on his hands and knees.

"What are you doing?" Cassie said and reached for his shirt. Dean batted at her hand and caught caught by her nails. Hissing, Dean pulled away from her and closer to Sam.

"You gotta… do something about those nails. I gotta…" Dean snickered and sought Sam's eyes again.

"We should make a rule for siblings," Cas said. Dean rolled his eyes and Sam managed to not be completely lost in Dean's orbit to notice that he flipped Cas off.

"We should make a rule that you shut up," Dean retorted and reached for Sam. Gentle, always gentle. With tenderness he cupped the back of Sam's neck and pulled him in. There was yelling, Charlie was cheering, and Sam was pretty sure that Kevin had ran off to the bedrooms.

"And you… consider your bluff called," Dean said and then, fueled by liquid courage as he was, he leaned in and brushed a soft kiss to Sam's lips.

Sam's head was spinning, his heart trying to beat out of his ribcage. He wanted to say it was from lack of oxygen when his breath hitched and stilled in his throat, wanted to say it wasn't from the way a shiver claimed his spine just from Dean being in his personal space all of a sudden, or the way his nerve endings were lit with zinging electricity when lips ghosted his. He wanted to say it was because he was drunk (and boy was he) that his eyes fluttered closed, that his lungs were untrustworthy and that was why his breath was shuddered, and that he was a mess that was why the world and its cat calls were bleeding away the moment lips softly touched his.

But the truth was he wanted things he shouldn't want, Dean was a heady intoxication of his sense, and playing this game had been a bad idea.

"Fuck you," He whispered wheezily against lips he  _dreamed_ about, liquid courage ensuring his clumsy hands fisted in the collar of Dean's shirt,  _crushing_ their mouths together.

Maybe it was Cassie's horror that hadn't let her react right away. Something about the way Sam and Dean's lips meshed together in sync as if they were made to fit each other, perhaps, but… The moment Sam's blissed out mind said screw air,  _this_ is how I want to die, and licked into his brother's mouth to taste whiskey and pure  _Dean_ …

The moment Dean got a taste of why anyone who kissed Sam asked him 'what is that' because something about the taste of Sam's mouth was  _addictive_ , her disgusted sounds made themselves known and Dean was  _yanked_ harshly away from him.

"Your brother is fucking  _sick_ ," she spat and it was pretty obvious she didn't mean 'he's asthmatic'.

If Sam wasn't so busy, you know, trying to not die from coughing for air (or dying or embarrassment) darkened hazel's might have leveled a flinty stare at her that would've rattled her to the bone.

"What just happened?" Charlie piped. Castiel hummed and handed Sam his inhaler.

"You might want this," Cas said. He had his arm around Sam to brace him, while their attention was on Cassie and Dean. He was swaying on his knees, eyes aimed more at Cassie's nose, and unfocused. He didn't look like he was listening to her as she continued to scream at him.

"And all you do is encourage him! It's like you  _want_ him to be a freak!"

Sam flinched. That word always struck a wrong chord, and no one took it lightly when it was flung at him. Especially Dean.

"What did you just call him? It was a fucking kiss, Cassie. And we're… fuck, Cas… It's called heat of the moment! We're drunk! And he has soft lips! And the bottle pointed at him. You woulda… you woulda kissed him too. I mean seriously, that  _mouth_ ," Dean praised, so far gone that he didn't notice the growing awkwardness that weaved through the tension in the room or the way Cassie paled. Kevin's hurls accentuated her look of disgust.

"His  _mouth_?" Cassie demanded heatedly and shoved Dean as she stood with a growled, "He's a freak and you LET him be and that's  _that_!"

At the mention of continuing to play she only made a disgusted sound, whirled around, ringlets moving with her, and stomped up the stairs.

"…Well I guess she's not playing," Jo quipped as if nothing was amiss, taking another swig from the bottle of whiskey, her cheeks rosy with intoxication, "and for the record, that was kind of hot. She doesn't know what she's talking about."

If nothing else THAT made a drunk Sam blush like a tomato now that a few hits of the inhaler had reopened his pinched straw, hurt and anger fading in the wake of his fluster.

Dean thought his mouth was good! Jo thought they were hot! Why hadn't the ground opened up and swallowed him yet and saved everyone from his awkwardness?

"Man, looks like I missed some drama, huh? You look like you could use a drink, Sam. And who's turn is it?"

Sam and Cas both tensed when Victor suddenly loomed over them with a red solo cup in hand. There was a blank spot on Sam's memory of where Victor should have been in the last ten minutes. He blinked at the cup and then looked up at Victor. There was a coldness in his eyes, and absence that Sam couldn't quite put his finger on. Then he remembered that Victor had gone outside and he quickly cast the abrupt chill out of his mind.

"It's Sam's turn. If we're still playing? He's rather distracted at the moment," Cas said.

"S-shut up," he complained without any real heat, accepting the red solo cup from Victor to occupy himself with. In all honesty he meant to only take a small drink of beer, but that turned into a very long drink… In fact, he was soon tipping it back and downing the whole thing with an appreciative hum in his throat, because  _damn_ it tasted  _good_ , warm veins singing with a pleasant thrum.

"Thank you," he breathed, not really realizing his wheeze hadn't much accompanied his words, grinning goofily up at Victor and leaning his side against Cassy's.

"Game on, right?"

Looking anywhere but at Dean, Sam spun the bottle.

Because it was just that kind of night for him, it landed on Cas.

"This game is incredibly homoerotic. Me likey." Sam watched as Charlie's voice drew a drunk Cas's attention back to the game just before her hand on his chin jerked his head down to the floor. Sam tried not to snicker when it took a moment for the guy to realize what she was making him see.

"But I thought it was Sam's turn," Cas said, eliciting giggles from the girls.

"It is, silly. Remember, two minute limit," Charlie said. Cas met Sam's eyes then, blues wide and a little dumb struck, stirring up something drunk and impulsive in Sam when he reached for his friend.

Everything fizzled out between that moment and when Sam touched him. Then all Sam knew was that Cas's hands were closing around his shoulders, eagerly letting the younger Winchester tug him in close, and ohhh– Once his mouth was covered by Cas's, it felt like heaven. He groaned as Cas surged forward, his friend giving himself over wholly and moaning like a starving man at a feast. It was sloppy, they were both so drunk, but the details didn't escape him.

Cas's mouth was searing hot and yes, so soft, and tasted of whiskey that mixed with Sam's own taste. Something sinister. Copper. Sinful. It clung to the tongue that delved into Castiel's mouth and drew more helpless sounds from him. Sam sought to share that taste, yearned for more, and maybe Cas did too, the other's hands beginning to slide into Sam's hair to keep him still for him to worship.

"Hey! Games over!"

Cas was suddenly being pulled away and flung back by the strong hands of the cold flame that was Dean Winchester.

"Victor, help me get some water into them and then it's lights out, people."

* * *

In the end at the kitchen table Sam was all drunk giggles even as Dean was making him drink water, humming with amusement and showed in the way he smiled around the rim of his water cup. Those boyish dimples could light up a room, even one as dim lit as this one currently was.

" _You_ didn't like that I was kissing Cas," he snickered, no pauses to wheeze much between his words, only to be shut up by Dean bringing the water cup back up to his mouth, encouraging him to hold the damn thing. "His mouth's soft.. Real soft."

Hazels trailed over to Cas who was being given water by Victor. Victor wasn't saying much, but that was okay, it was Cas that a drunk (or was it high?) Sam wanted to have look at him.

"You liked it, right Cassy?"

…Well maybe he didn't, or maybe Dean's ominous ire was so strong Cas didn't dare say. Sigh. Why did big brother's have to be such grumpamuses? But hey, you can bet Sam's delighted smile grew when Cas responded with, "Yes. I liked it very…"

"Drink your water," Dean's growl interrupted.

"At least _I_ don't need to be drunk to admit it." Cas mumbled, wise enough to not look up at Dean, instead going back to sip his water.

"One more word out of you mister and you'll be sleeping on the couch," Dean said.

"With you? Cause I don't see Cassie letting you out of the dog house," Charlie piped.

"I have my ways, and anyways, everyone, shut up! Sam, drink your water. Waking up with a hangover is just going to make your breathing ten times worse."

To appease Grumpamus, Sam took a long drink of water. But it really didn't taste anywhere near as good as the beer Victor brought him so he was far more inclined to set the cup aside on the table…out of Dean's immediate reach.

"My ~breathing~," Sam paused here for emphasis, taking in a half-deep breath that his lungs only rattled lightly with, his wheeze a quiet whistle. It was rather impressive, considering he normally only managed a quarter deep breath, Jo and Charlie clapping for him which earned them another flash of dimples and big smile before glassy hazels returned to Dean, relaxing further in his seat until his posture was nothing but a lazy sprawl, all long legs and arms, the finer lines of his body made visible. "…is doin' good. See?"

He rubbed his chest for good measure out of habit, humming when Dean bent over him to reach for the cup of water, grabby hands interrupting his brother by grabbing his face and tugging him closer. Their noses almost brushed, hot breath intermingling.

Sam's eyes all but sparkled with a quiet, devious sort of mirth.

"You're ~bossy~…and short. Just admit you don't like me kissing Cas~." His voice lowered conspiratorially, "I won't tell Cassie."

For a moment it looked like Dean was going to admit it. Or kiss Sam. It was anyone's guess, really. A drunk Sam drew people in like a moth to the flame. Not even his own brother was safe from it.

"You're drunk," Dean muttered and pulled away. He swayed, giving away how sober he wasn't, but was moving back towards the stairs all the same. Stopping at the banister, he pointed up the stairs with an expectant air.

"He can barely say it while drunk," Castiel said, amused, and was gifted Dean's glare.

"Here, I'll prove it." Cas said, and Sam tried not to giggle at his unsteady drunken steps when he stood. It was a journey, it seemed, getting from his chair to Sam's, but mmm did Sam's smile grow devious once he was close. Sam hummed as Cas gripped the top of the chair and loomed down until their breath intermingled.

"How long before he pulls me away? One second? Two?" Castiel asked and then leaned down. He didn't even make it to Sam's mouth. Dean grabbed him right before their lips could touch and then began frog marching him up the stairs.

"Bed. Everyone. Now!"

"Who died and made you boss?" Castiel slurred scornfully.

"My dad. Now up you go, and you better let Sam get his rest or tomorrow you're sleeping in the snow."

Sam didn't think Dean had realized yet that he and Cas were sharing a room with only one queen sized bed. If he had known, he probably  _would_ have insisted that Cas sleep on the couch. As it were, the _look_ on his face when Cas ultimately opened the door to head inside, giving Dean a view of the bed just as Charlie and Jo had gotten Sam up the stairs, was absolutely  _amazing_.

"G'night, Dee!" he slurred with a happy sigh, making his stumbly, clumsy way into the room, grabbing onto the door to steady himself only to flash another smile and close the bedroom door before Dean could bitch.

To bitch now would mean admitting he wasn't happy with the arrangement.

On the other side of the door he could hear Jo patting Dean's shoulder with a, "Let it go, Dean-o. Let it go."

Sam turned around and leaned his weight against the door with a alcohol warmed chuckle, head tipping back, thumping lightly once against the wood. He might forget come morning, but right then it was officially and undeniable fact that Dean was a jealous brother, and that felt so good. So friggin' good. They had kind of always known, but this? This was amazing. Tonight, he had gotten to finally kiss Dean.

And Cas.

Mmm, Cassy.

"I think if I so much as touch you, Dean will storm into the room," Castiel mused.

"And um," Cas continued, " if I forget all this in the morning, I want to apologize. For not being good. At kissing. It doesn't help that I feel like my head is full of cheap alcohol."

Sam licked his lips, a crooked grin forming as eyes he hadn't even realized closed reopened to level his glassy eyes on Cas.

"I liked it, Cassy," he promised him, clumsy fingers working on his belt so he could better push away from the door and shimmy out of his jeans. His shirt followed suit, chest only spasming lightly from the movements and mild pressure. A few coughs and he was fine, approaching his best friend with a drunk giggle, admiring his mouth, "…I could teach you, you know. If you wanted. To kiss better."

Dean didn't want Cas touching Sam but hey, what if Sam touched Cas?

Like he did right there, hooking fingers into belt loops to tug him closer so he could clumsily work on Cas's belt and jeans too. They always slept in their boxers.

"If we're quiet," he said lower, conspiratorially, lungs rattling lightly in the moonlit dark, "he won't even know."

They might forget come morning, but Cas's muscle memory would learn.

"Um…" Castiel stared at him dumbstruck again and yet there was a look there, a quiet heat within Cas's confusion that shot straight through Sam. Nnngh, that mouth. He didn't fight the pull and began leaning in. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Cas again. All night, if he was lucky…

"I'm not blonde," flew out of Cas's mouth when Sam started to get too close. Kissing because the bottle told them to was one thing, apparently. As was riling Dean up. That was a favorite pastime of theirs. But this was… New and unscripted and as much as Sam could feel Cas wanting it, the shorter teen couldn't wrap his head around it.

Sam's fiddling fingers paused in their clumsy efforts to undo Cas's jeans, looking up from the the belt buckle to the blue eyes that were so wide and so blue. The prettiest blue, especially with streaming moonlight making them all but glow.

"You're not..blonde.." he repeated, slow, as if to try and make sense even to himself and his foggy head why Cas would think that pertinent.

It was slow coming, but it was starting to click.

"Cassy.." Abandoning his task of undressing his best friend, handsy hands moved up to take Cas's face in hand, stepping into close the space between their bodies. That he was only in Sam boxers didn't seem to deter him.

"Do you think tha's why I've never kissed you?" he slurred, thumbs tracing over warm cheeks, eyes searching deep blues. "Because I like..blondes? Cassy, I  _like_ you. Love you." A dopey, dimply drunk smile made itself known. "I've always loved you. You're my best friend.." A quiet wheeze rattled in his lungs, walking the other back until his back touched the wall and their chests brushed.

Cas got to feel every spasm of his diaphragm when he coughed, muffling the sound into his shoulder, fingers finding their way into dark brown hair.

"I didn't want you to stop being my friend.. Same way Dean would stop being my brother if he knew it was real. I was scared."  _That_ was why he had never kissed him before. But now… Now that he knew Cas liked it…

Wet lips pressed a lingering kiss into the bend of Cas's neck, his throat, teeth grazing. He could almost smell his blood racing, nngh–

"We don't have to practice kissing if you don't wanna… Mmm, you smell really good," he murmured, a soft groan of want making his lungs rattle with another quiet wheeze.

"Sam. What… " Castiel's words were lost, knocked out of him when his back hit the wall. Sam was too close, reality fraying at the edges. If he didn't pull away he was going to fall out of orbit and into the galaxies that were Sam's eyes. But he didn't want to pull away.

"Why would you… think that? I let you taste my blood. But oh, I've also ran every time. With Je…. You love me?"

He stared at Sam like he just couldn't compute, hands spread over Sam's wheezy chest. Then his expression shifted, if Sam's fuzzy mind was right, one that made him feel like he was suddenly placed on a pedestal. Because the look Cas gave him? That was what a man looked like when he was at worship.

"There were times… when I thought… But you always had Dean or… And then. Not. And you were recovering. And I was scared, too."

He began tracing Sam's scar with his right hand trapped between their bodies while his left carded through Sam's hair. Words were spilling, slurred and soft and uncoordinated, when there was something else Sam wanted to be doing. Luckily for Sam, Cas was on the same page.

"Teach me? How to kiss you."

Sam didn't need to be asked twice, not when he was  _that_ drunk… _that_ high off Cas's scent, his touch over a sensitive scar.

Drunk off knowing Cas wanted this. Didn't think he was a freak.

Could he even truly grasp how much Sam valued him? How much he meant to him? Why it would terrify Sam to think of losing him?

"Just feel, let me handle the..breathing.." he murmured, fingers curling in dark hair as he captured the shorter teen's mouth in a slow, sloppy,  _spine tingling_  kiss. There was no desperation there, no franticness to own or claim what was already his. No, there was just Sam Winchester showing Castiel LaFitte how to  _really_ kiss someone.

With a wheezy sort of airy moan as a nip to lips earning him some droplets of blood, Sam took full advantage of Cas's gasp to lick inside of his mouth and  _consume_ him, a shudder traveling all the way down to his curling toes.

"Nose," he panted on a shaky breath, the brunette undoubtedly able to feel every quake of his chest, suckling over lips. "Breathe.. through your nose, and you never have to break the kiss."

"Breathe," Castiel repeated reverently. His hand splayed over the scar rather than caress, to better feel the rattle. How many hours had Cas devoted listening to it, and took every chance he had to feel it when he tended to Sam during his worst fits? Sam knew that it had little to do with him keeping an ear on his health, either. Not like how Dean did.

"Yes. I don't want you to stop." Cas bit down on his own lip, pinching it hard between his teeth to tear the small cut open. Copper Sam's senses, his chest convulse with a stuttering exhale. His grip tightened on Cas and just as he began dipping down, Cas surged up to meet in the middle to devour.

Sam had felt drunk an hour or so before, the beer Victor had given him had been amazingly  _delicious_ , but kissing Cas with  _blood_ in his mouth? Kissing Cas like that, knowing his best friend embraced his erotic kinks with open arms where any normal person would call him a freak, knowing Cas got off on it just as much as he did…that? That felt like  _flying_ , and ohhh Sam flew high, mind clouding over with a warm haze that spread through his veins, his limbs.

"Mmm.. Fuck, you taste so good–"

For what seemed like an eternity the only noise in the room where low moans and grunts muffled against swollen lips and the wet sounds of their kisses. They fell into a drunken haze where only that existed, there was no other thought in mind but sharing the taste of Castiel's blood between them, of relishing the shudder in Sam's breathing.

He lost himself to their wet kisses, to the sweet curls of their tongues,  _drinking_ between soft, low moans and chesty sounds that were sounding progressively less wheezy. Cas's hair was a wreck of sex-hair by the time he was breaking their kiss (Sam's wasn't much better), leaving Sam panting softly with hardly any wheezes involved,  _wanting_. ..Hungry. Hungry for–

"We should…" Cas panted as they parted. His tongue darted out to poke at the cut and found it already closed. He shook off whatever fog had come over him then opened his mouth to speak. Only to be interrupted by Sam's stomach. Cas frowned.

"Have we eaten yet?"

A rumbling stomach said food, but the way Sam looked at Cas's mouth and forming scab said otherwise.

There was a heat there, a fire from earlier, a lust.

"I know what we can eat.." he murmured, a subtle shift there in his husky voice, reaching for Cas's face again to kiss him.

You know, unless Cas had a better idea, and there were few foods that could sway Sam Winchester.

"PBBJ sandwiches?" Castiel blurted before their lips could connect. Sam paused to let that make sense in his head and then when he next opened his eyes, they were alight with excitement.


	8. Chapter Seven: All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the give of a warm body that Sam crashed into rather than a dusty floor. Dean was right there to gather Sam up in his arms and start back up the stairs. The fight with Cas had fled from his mind, as did the need to patch himself up, it seemed. Blood had gushed from his nose, was still trickling down his chin and neck, a deep red temptation despite Sam's struggle to breathe. Dean was heading for the bathroom for a reason.

"Inhaler?"

"Check."

"Epi Pen?"

"Check."

"Benadryl?"

"Taken."

"Okay. Then we can proceed."

Both boys looked down at their plates where sliced bread were laid out with their prizes circling the plates. Castiel picked up the first knife to hand to Sam then grabbed the other. The met each other's eyes during the exchange and their wicked glee was palpable in the dark kitchen, lit only by the embers from the fire. The forbidden was always the greatest of temptations, and it was the danger that thrilled them the most. Sam loved few things more than he loved peanut butter and bananas, couple that with strawberry jelly (which he was also mildly allergic to, mind you, gotta live life on the edge), and the thrill-inducing fact of the forbidden, and Sam was above and beyond a happy moose. That, and Sam would sell his soul for peanut butter.

"Go."

Working as a team, Sam handled spreading peanut butter on one slice, Cas spread jelly on another, and in unison did they put the banana slices down onto their sandwiches. It was fast work, despite the alcohol in their veins making them sloppier than normal, but the end result was all that mattered. And that end result was heavy and messy with peanut butter oozing out of the edges, a glop of jelly threatening to fall onto Sam's plate. To them, even with Castiel's aversion to bananas, it was perfection.

The kitchen light suddenly turning on, was not.

"Is that fucking peanut butter? Are you trying to kill my brother!?"

But of course Sam's happiness always came at a price, didn't it? Why should a good night be any different? He really shouldn't have been surprised that Dean would choose that moment to come downstairs and go into momma bear roar mode, making the boys freeze with their sandwiches halfway to their mouths.

Hands caught in the cookie jar red handed.

If Sam were sober, he would be scared, but Sam felt high as a kite and could barely keep his devious, slow forming smile in check, purposely turning it into a pout instead.

"Deeeee," he whined, no wheeze to be heard, (dilated) puppy dog eyes on full power, "I took a benadryl, n' I'm  _hungry_. We do this all the time! It's our secret-" ...Yeah he was definitely high, giving away secrets while watching his brother for any sudden movements, like a puppy totally intending to do the thing it's not allowed to do before it could be foiled!

You know, because he was already lifting the sandwich the rest of the way up to his mouth and he didn't want to be stopped!

"Are you  _kidding me_? Sammy, don't you do it!" Dean threatened, "Don't you take that bite!"

Dean's stepping into the kitchen sealed the deal, Sam opened his mouth hugely, taking a big chunk of a bite out of his PBBJ,

"Mother fucker!"

Hearing Dean's livid curse but nnghh, Sam was too busy taking another bite before he had even finished chewing the first one, moan appreciatively as if he had just found nirvana.

"This is soooo GOOD, mmmmm-"

Ambrosia was a thing, and that thing was peanut butter, strawberry jelly, and banana sandwiches. The forbidden fruit. The holy trinity.

Unlike Sam, Castiel did not inhale his sandwich. He was stuck frozen with indecision as Dean rushed at them. Though rushed seemed inaccurate as the events that followed appeared in slow motion. Dean moved forward, matching each of Sam's bites with a step. He rounded the island, skidded to a stop, and that was when things went to Hell.

Sam was halfway down his sandwich by then and continued to eat while Dean stared at them in horror. His eyes were bulging, jaw dropped. Cas looked down at himself and then at Sam.

"Oh," Cas said over Sam's contented moan. He knew what they looked like, but he didn't care. Sam was in his boxers and Castiel's pants were undone with the belt barely still in the loops and heavy enough to drag his pants down to that they were clinging to dear life on Castiel's narrow hips. To make matters worse, Sam's hair felt like a wreck and Cas's actually was. So frankly, they looked like they had just had sex with Castiel having been in such a hurry that he barely got his pants down before fucking Sam. That must have clicked in Dean's brain because he went from pale to murderous red.

"My baby brother! You are so dead angel!"

Castiel's sandwich dropped onto the plate with a splat as he threw himself to the side to avoid getting tackled by an incensed wrestling champion.

"It's not what you think!"

"Six feet under you son of a bitch!"

"I did not have sex with Sam. All we did was make out!" Castiel insisted while bomb diving behind the table. The desired effect of calming Dean did not happen. He squawked indignantly and only seemed more intent on killing Cas. Using his thin frame to his advantage, he wedged himself under the chairs and scrambled to fix up his pants.

"I am going to rip your lungs out! I knew I was right not to fall asleep. I fucking knew you tried stuff! Defile my baby brother and then let him eat peanuts and strawberries?!"

"I also believe that the bread is wheat," Cas said. In hindsight, that was a mistake. Dean roared and a hand closed around Cas's ankle. Unfortunately for Dean, Cas's instinct was to kick out. Something crunched under his heel and Dean howled but he at least let go of Castiel's ankle.

"You're DEAD!" Castiel scrambled free and headed for the nearest door. It just happened to be the basement.

It was rather comical when you thought about it, the scene laid out like that. Sam just calmly eating his sandwich with the reverence of someone making love to food (and the appreciative sounds to go along with it), while Dean chased Cas round and around the island and table with murderous intent. He had every reason to be pissed, considering wheat was not a 'mild' allergy, he could get hives and suffocate long before an ambulance could get up to the mountains, but hey... That was what the epi pens and inhaler were for, and the two benadryl he had taken to combat the allergens with antihistamines. This holy trinity sandwich was worth the risk.

You know until Dean started to chase Cas into the basement.

Finishing his last bite of PBBJ on wheat, it clicked that stomping feet, noises, and cries of what could've been pain were coming from the basement. Alarm shot through the younger Winchester.

"Dean, stop-!" Sam called, louder than his lungs were equipped for (especially with his body working overtime to not kill himself right now), only to cough harshly into a fist. You can bet that made Dean freeze with fear for his baby brother's life while Sam clumsily left the kitchen to a scramble down the stairs for Cas's sake.

"Don't hurt him! I kissed him! I wanted…" A coughing fit seized him,, his throat starting to feel dangerously scratchy. The wheeze returned to rattly lungs, and of course he had left the stupid epi pens up on the island,

"The sandwich! It's my fault..." Cough, wheeze, hit of the inhaler, a few more dizzying coughs, "..you never stop babying me! Cas doesn't..baby me.. You kissed Benny! I'm not a little kid-"

But of course that statement was countered by his miss-stepping on the last step of the stairs and falling forward.

If he hit the ground with that kind of force, it wouldn't bode well for his lungs.

"I've got you."

It was the give of a warm body that Sam crashed into rather than a dusty floor. Dean was right there to gather Sam up in his arms and start back up the stairs. The fight with Cas had fled from his mind, as did the need to patch himself up, it seemed. Blood had gushed from his nose, was still trickling down his chin and neck, a deep red temptation despite Sam's struggle to breathe. Dean was heading for the bathroom for a reason.

"Why do you do this, Sammy? You know you're not supposed to eat that stuff. You're lucky you didn't collapse. Seriously, what were you thinking, baby boy? You and Cas. Can I really trust him alone with you? I like the kid, I do, but he gets you into nothing but trouble."

"Only does.. What I ask him to.. My fault.." Sam coughed these choked sounds into the bend of the blond's neck, trembling in Dean's arms as all 6'4'' of him was carried upstairs, diaphragm spasming violently. "Wanna be..treated normal.. Wanna be normal, Dee, why..can't I be like everybody else..?" It was a deep rooted, life long desire...the one thing only Dean knew Sammy had spent nights growing up  _crying_ over, anguished as a child. Why can't I be normal, why can't I breathe, why can't I be the same as everyone else, why am I different.

His lips smeared over blood that had dribbled down his brother's neck as he spoke, tongue darting out to taste with a soft, rumbling groan that really could have been pain or pleasure, no real telling considering it was followed by more coughs.

It wasn't enough.

His shuddered, harsh wheezes weren't getting any better, his throat felt like it was closing and he was  _choking_ , tongue swelling-

"Sorry..sor..ry…"

Sam registered the sharp sting of the epi pen, but on a far off sort of way. Time was of the essence and Dean knew that more than anyone; he wasn't wasting a second in getting medicine directly to his bloodstream and then Sam to the bathroom he had preemptively set up as the fail safe allergy attack bathroom on the first floor. Boxers and all, Sam was was gingerly placed in the tub that was quickly being filled with hot water, breathing mask situated on his blood covered face, hands on his quaking chest-

Because Sam wasn't normal.

Sam was never going to be normal... No, he felt closer to death than normalcy.

The younger Winchester just wanted to curl up and cry.

* * *

Castiel stood at the bottom of the basement, catching his breath. Sam and Dean's figures were shrouded in shadow, the light around them bleached by the kitchen light above. He watched as their silhouettes disappeared and then was left down in the dark, with only slivers of light to chase away the creeping dark.

They had never been down in the basement before. Last time no one has thought to explore. Castiel wasn't one to throw himself into such places where you couldn't trust what might be lurking in the shadows. Watching and waiting. He felt like he was being watched right then. Heart beating faster, Castiel looked behind himself and encountered only more shadows. There was a gleam in the corner of his eyes, like light caressing the edge of a blade, and the same unease he felt when he first touched Jessica's Ouija board washed over him. It crackled in the air and set a chill down under his skin. Slowly he started towards the stairs while the sensation of being watched never went away.

His foot lit upon the stairs when the pipes above gave a mighty rattle as the hot water was turned on. Castiel jumped, hands slamming down on the banister, eyes wide as he stared at the unnatural dark. He was too drunk for this, all logical reason fleeing. There was nothing there, he told himself. There was nothing there.

"Nothing there," he said out loud. No sooner had the words left his tongue than did he hear the shuffling of feet from the darkest corner. Castiel was paralyzed, heart slamming against his ribs and his blood ran cold. His eyes darted from corner to corner but he couldn't discern where the sound was coming from. Just that it was coming closer and closer and closer. Then the shuffling stopped, the presence feeling at the edge of the dark. There was a sound, like someone taking a breath, and then came the glitter of light in two spots in the air. Like light catching in someone's eyes.

A hand closed around Castiel's shoulder and stole all ability he had to breathe. He whipped around as his mind imagined all the ways he could die, all the things and people that would be delivering his demise, only to find Victor staring down at him.

"What are you doing down here? Come on, you've got a mess up stairs with your name on it."

Castiel looked back behind him but there was nothing there. The presence was gone and the only sound was water rushing through pipes as Sam was given a hot bath upstairs. With his heart somewhere in his throat, Castiel turned around to follow Victor up the stairs.

To add insult to injury, his sandwich was gone.

* * *

"Shh, Sammy, just breathe. You're gonna be okay." What mattered was getting Sam to breathe. For Dean, that was their normal. Emergency kits all over the place, epi pens as scattered as regular ballpoints, dissolving medicinal tablets for the bath, the lingering smell of albuterol and menthol every where he went. Sam deciding to do stupid shit that required the need of all that crap at once. That was Dean's normal. Sam could never understand why Dean didn't hate it more. Or as much as Sam did.

"I know this sucks, man, but you're a fighter, Sammy. You've got this, okay? One day it's gonna get better, you know it will. We'll find a new medicine or surgery that will give your lungs a better chance and you know I won't stop, even if I have to find a better way myself. You just gotta hold on until then. I know you can do that for me," Dean said softly while rubbing menthol on Sam's chest for the hives and a little extra oomph for his lungs.

Afterwards, when Sam was breathing on his own and drowsy from the medicine, Dean bundled him up in towels and took him to bed. New boxers were pulled up and soon he was laying Sam down in bed and crawling in after him. Cas could go sleep in the Impala for all Dean cared. He had earned the right to curl up around Sam, their skin and hair damp from the steam, and the rattle of Sam's breath vibrating through Dean's chest. After that night, he had earned that.

"Get some sleep. I'll be right here, Sammy."

In the end, for all that Sam complained about Dean's mother henning him, the kid was actually grateful for it. Loved Dean for it and hoped his brother never doubted how much he meant to him. He would have died a long time ago if it wasn't for Dean Winchester, and that night wrapped up in his arms, damp head of floppy hair tucked under the twenty-two year old's chin, chest rattling with every tranquil breath, he felt safe.

This was where he was safest, when Dean was right here, keeping the darkness away with his light.

_Don't let your light go out, Dee. I need you._


	9. Chapter Eight: Where it all began

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was somewhere dark.  
> Dank.  
> Dusty.  
> But he wasn't alone.  
> Something was there, whispering to the sleep walking teenager in his dreams.  
> Or was it in the very air itself?  
> Something there caressing over his skin like an old friend as odd trinkets from boxes floated around him in lazy circles in the dark.  
> Welcome.  
> Back.

Come morning, dear Sammy wouldn't be found in bed with Dean. In fact, when the cabin was eventually ransacked and his name called, Sam wouldn't be found anywhere up there.

He was somewhere dark.

Dank.

Dusty.

But he wasn't alone.

Something was there, whispering to the sleep walking teenager in his dreams.

Or was it in the very air itself?

Something there caressing over his skin like an old friend as odd trinkets from boxes floated around him in lazy circles in the dark.

**Welcome.**

**Back.**

"Welcome…" Sam's distant, sleep laced voice whispered in the dark, lungs rattling with his wheeze, eyes staring unseeingly into the dark that all but glittered for him. "…back."

**Soon.**

"Back… where?"

**Soon.**

The door at the top of the stairs opened and the trinkets fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

Sam didn't move or even bat an eyelash, he just stood and stared ever unseeingly into the darkness, wheezing in that way that said he wasn't even awake.

"Sam? Jesus Christ. What are you doing down there?" Dean reached for the cord to turn the light on. He pulled, but darkness remained. His cursing found Sam down the stairs followed by Dean's footsteps.

"Great. Just great."

"Did you find him?" Came voices upstairs.

"Yeah, he's in the damn basement!" Dean called back. "In the freaking dark."

"Dark… it's dark here…" Sam muttered. He wheezed quietly and didn't notice Dean walking towards him. Something crunched and Dean cursed some more.

"Because this is just how I wanted my morning to go. I'm hung over, you weren't in bed, Cassie's already on my ass, and breakfast isn't even made yet. And now I've stepped on, what, a lego? Are you even awake?" Steady hands gripped Sam's shoulders and the whispers went completely silent. Carefully, Dean guided Sam back to the stairs and out of the dark. "Of course not. Booze and meds, always a bad mix. And boy are you going to feel it when you snap out of this."

Sam  _definitely_ felt it when he snapped out of his dream state, the streaming morning light upstairs enough to rouse his consciousness and with it –with everyone else equally groaning and bemoaning their states of being– a living hell. He barely got to the bathroom in time to pray to the porcelain gods when his stomach gave a violent lurch, let alone managed to move through the sudden jackhammer of a migraine making itself a home in his head.

Misery didn't even begin to cover what he was going through and  _still_ Cassie didn't know how to shut. The. Fuck. Up.

"You know what? Fuck you, Dean! I'm  _sick_ of this, do you actually have to lock yourself in the _bathroom_ with him? It's not enough that you  _slept_ with him? How old is he to you, five?" she bitched outside the door, and it was only making his headache worse and worse.

"Make her," another retch, barely able to wheeze and catch his breath, knuckles white on the toilet seat. Oh hedidn'tfeelgood– "Shut up!"

The light bulb in the bathroom burst, casting them into darkness and raining little glass pieces down on them, because their morning wasn't terrible enough as is.

"Oh son of a…" Dean surged to his feet and reached for the door. Glass crunched and Sam smelled the seductive pull of copper. He leaned towards Dean only to flinch back when light cut inside the bathroom.

"Cassie, baby, shut up, please?" Dean pleaded. Despite the nauseating pain, Sam peeked at the doorway to see Dean with his left foot lifted up while he pried a shard of glass from his heel. Light shined over the blood that slithered down Dean's fingers.

"And I need a dust pan and a broom and could you have someone bring something for Sam to drink up? That would be great." Dropping the bloodied shard into Cassie's hand, Dean turned back to Sam and used a towel to brush the glass aside.

"The lighting in this place is freaking whack. It either has no light bulbs or faulty ones. Awesome, right?"

Cassie seemed to finally realize how bad off Sam was, perhaps because she really did shut up when she saw how sheet-white he was throwing up into the toilet. Maybe she felt a little guilty, or knocked down a few pegs, especially knowing Dean was bleeding now and she had glass and his blood in her hands, but she just nodded with a mumbled,

"..Sorry.. Um, yeah," and went off to do what he asked. The door closed, locking them in darkness again, and both brothers groaned in collective relief.

"I think… I'm done…" Sam groaned. His eyes closed on their own accord when Dean's arm came around him to help him back on his haunches. Sam pressed his hands to his temple try and use pressure to alleviate his head. His eyes were fixed on something in the near dark while he was just trying to wheeze his breath back into his half-pinched straw of a set of airways.

"You're..bleeding.." he half panted, lungs whistling rattling. Each struggled breath brought in that dizzying scent. It filled the air and Sam was so thirsty, veins itching with want.

When Dean came to him with another towel to clean his mouth up, Sam couldn't resist anymore, wasn't even thinking straight when a trembling hand curled around the blond's wrist and brought the two fingers up for his mouth to mold his lips around, licking..sucking..

"Mmm.."

Light cut through the dark again and Jo clearing her throat. Sam almost didn't even register it.

"Er.. Uh.. Here's some OJ and a broom n' dust pan. Am I interrupting something?"

"What? Uh… Erm. He's pretty out of it. Thanks," Dean took the cup and shoved it in Sam's hand then took the broom. His fingers slid out of Sam's mouth with a too loud pop that only added to the awkwardness.

"Sammy, just drink your juice," Dean ordered, face red, before he looked back at Jo. "We'll be downstairs for… brunch or whatever, in a bit. Just… give us a few minutes. Yeah?"

"…Right, uh. Sure," Jo said, eyeing them both and rubbing at her own throbbing temple. "Breakfast'll be ready soon, Victor's cooking," she added, taking her leave with a mock salute.

Sam wasn't even really paying attention by then, drinking his juice with  _gusto_. His eyes fluttered closed, Adam's apple bobbing over and over as the liquid coated his throat and filled his belly, basking in the way his veins thrummed with sated life. It was almost better than Dean's blood. Almost.

"So good," he panted, wheeze not but a faint whistle now, "tastes funny, but it's so good… My head hurts…"

Didn't do much for his headache, though, clearly, if the way he leaned into Dean with a puppy dog pout was any indication.

"Make it better..?"

Sam never had to ask twice. Dean set the dust pan full of shards aside by the tub and rinsed off his hands. He was then soon settling behind Sam so he had someone to lean on and began rubbing his temples.

"Of course it tastes funny. You just threw up alcohol and meds that were fermenting in your stomach. Everything's going to taste nasty after that."

Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Sam's head then started humming under his breath. It was just loud enough for Sam to discern that it was, 'Hey Jude.' As if he had any doubt.

—-

"Hey, you didn't burn the place down." Dean praised on his way inside the kitchen. Sam was leaning against him, held up by his brother. They had changed into pajama bottoms, at Dean's insistence because he didn't want to face any more of Cassie's wrath. It was bad enough that Cas was right there to take Sam off of Dean and help him to a chair and then flinch when Dean leveled a glare at him.

"Oh shut up and eat. Bacon, sausage, and eggs cooked in the grease. Nothing better cures a hangover. Sam's plate is already on the table and I promise, it won't try 'n kill him," Victor said.

Sam still had a mild headache, but he felt better for the most part by the time they were setting down. And it would have lingered (tired dimples even appeared at the sight of Cassy) had Cassie not decided to make a home in Dean's lap when he sat down at the table.

He tried to not be too pouty over it, but it was kind of hard when manicured nails were playing with the fine hairs at the nape of his brother's neck. Or the way Dean smiled at being forgiven. He occupied himself with bumping his shoulder against Cassy's in 'I've got your back' solidarity and picked up a fork.

"Smells awesome," he promised Victor, forking up a big bite of scrambled eggs. If he made a slight face it wasn't because they tasted bad, no they tasted awesome, just…different. "Taste  _weird_ , but they're  _good_."

"Taste weird how?" Kevin asked dubiously, claiming the seat across from Sam as he eyed the spread like it personally offended him. "Boy am I glad I'm vegan… Where's mine, Vic?"

"Um.." Sam hummed, lungs only whistling lightly with his quiet wheeze, "weird like coppery? I don't know. It's really good."

"Dude, I told you. Stuff is gonna taste weird for a while," Dean said. Victor was placing their plates down, a bowl of cereal with soy milk in Kevin's case. He didn't seem perturbed that someone found his cooking off in the least.

"Here, let me taste it." Cas took Sam's fork before it reached his mouth and ate the bite himself. Dean's ire didn't last long when Cas made a face. Before Cas could say anything, Dean was almost spilling Cassie onto the floor to reach over and stab his fork into Sam's eggs. There went being forgiven…

"What is that?" Dean muttered as he chewed.

"Copper, as Sam said," Castiel intoned. Dean nodded.

"I used ionized salt. There's nothing wrong with his eggs," Victor said casually.

"Our eggs don't taste like that," Dean said. He waved at everyone to push their plates forward and proceeded to try every plate of eggs. He then tried Sam's again and made a face.

"They do look kind of, orange?" Charlie added. Dean shoved his plate in front of Sam, gave Cassie almost no warning before getting up, and took Sam's plate right to the trash.

"What the fuck, Victor? What the Hell did you put in Sam's food?"

"Come on, chill. Sam liked it!"

"What did you put in it, Victor!?"

"Just some spices. You don't need to throw it…" Dean dumped the entire contents of Sam's former breakfast into the trash as he stared Victor down.

"New rule, I'm cooking for now on. Sam could have fucking died last night because of stupid carelessness! No one messes with his food or his allergies, capiche?"

This always happened. This  _always_ happened. Dean forever over reacted. If Sam had known he was gonna flip, he wouldn't have said anything! Not today! Not on the one day of every month that Sam dedicated to Jess, the day that hit him the hardest every month. The 30th was her day, every single month of the year.

Sam pushed his fork around his plate, listening to the arguments going on around him… Cassie's irritated sighs, Jo's grumbles about 'it always being something', Dean bitching, Victor arguing, Kevin ignoring, Charlie looking between his brother and Victor like it was a tennis match–it was too much.

Sam felt like he was suffocating even with his lungs being better, this wasn't okay!

"Can we please," he cut into Dean's putting his foot down and Victor's protesting, a fist pounding once on the table to get everyone's attention, "NOT argue today? It's the 30th. Please. Not today. It's Jess and Benny's day, alright? Stop, I'm not dying, just stop."

He drew in a fortifying breath, lungs rattling only lightly, he swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat. Exhaling slowly, his eyes closed against the forming dampness, pushing away Dean's plate.

"No more fighting. Not on her day."

Everyone stopped. Talking, fighting, eating it all stopped. For a minute, anyways, until the scrape of Kevin's spoon against the side of the bowl broke the silence. Dean sighed heavily and shot Kevin an exasperated look. He wasn't the only one.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said, starting a chorus of apologies from the table. "And I'm sorry too, Cas. I know I get a little…"

"Momma bear?" Charlie piped.

"Overbearing?" Cas added under his breath.

"Erotically Codependent was a good one," Kevin said.

Dean rolled his eyes and set the plate down on the counter.

"Yeah, okay. Anyways, I'm sorry. You're right, this day is for Benny and Jess. So let's get over our hangovers, get the stuff we brought, and then we'll all head over to the site. We'll do it properly, I promise," Dean said solemnly.


	10. Chapter Nine: Honoring The Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I should be here," Sam whispered to himself as he blinked back tears, cheeks rosy from the cold and eyes on the puffy side. "That should've been me next to you, not Benny. ...Not Benny."

**December, 2001**

 

There were two crosses on the cliff. One for her. One for him.

The actual graves were back in Sioux Falls, but the memorial was here, where it had all happened, visible even in the five inches of snow. Flurries were continuing to gently shower the area, giving it a winter wonderland feel that would have almost been comforting if Sam didn't feel like his heart was getting ripped out of his chest by some unseen entity just being back here on this cliff.

'I love you', she had said to him, tears streaming down her face. 'I love you, I'm so sorry.'

She had probably said more, Sam had a strong, itching feeling that she had said more. Warned him about something, but he couldn't remember. His memories of that night were so foggy, pain making up most of them, because he hadn't been able to let her go.

There was a somberness in the air all around, solemn and honoring the dead with silence save for boots crunching in the snow as they made their way closer, everyone clad in winter wear, from scarfs and gloves to ear mitts.

They didn't stop until all seven of them were standing in a half moon circle around the crosses.

Even Kevin had nothing smart to say. How could he, when Jo was soon crying against Charlie and Sam, Dean, and Cas looked like wrecks, themselves.

They had lost more than anyone could fully grasp that fateful night.

"I should be here," Sam whispered to himself as he blinked back tears, cheeks rosy from the cold and eyes on the puffy side. "That should've been me next to you, not Benny. ...Not Benny."

His grief became a half sob, half choked wheeze, sinking to his knees in the snow before Jess's cross.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I couldn't pull you back.."

He had loved her so much.

No one fought Sam, not because they agreed with him, but because it was their time to really grieve. They had gone to the graves at the anniversary, everyone pretending that Benny's wasn't empty, and honored them there, but Sam needed this, they all did, to remember that night and how they all had lost someone. A love, a brother, a best friend. Or in Jo's case, a ghost from her past.

"Benny, Jess, we miss you guys. Not a day goes by," Dean added soft and choked up, hands falling on Sam's shoulders. When Cas stepped up next to him, movements unsure, Dean pulled him against his side. He kept his arm curled around Cas's waist, so that Cas could place a hand on Sam's shoulder as well, connecting the three of them. No matter their fights, or the things they have said or done in the past, they were still family. All of them were.

"It hasn't been easy keeping our boy in line without you, Benny. But lord knows I've tried," Cassie said. She earned a small smile from Dean when their eyes met, and a nod of thanks. She nodded back and began placing the wreaths around the crosses and lit the candles they had brought. Cassie also took over the job of sticking the third cross in the ground, for Jo's sake.

Charlie held Jo through more tears, and for a while sniffles not much more than sniffles and quiet words of goodbyes were heard. Their differences were settled in that moment. All of their fights forgotten. Even Cassie was there to offer Sam comfort through a kiss to the top of his beanie clad head. Surviving after losing people you loved was hard enough without adding strife with people you still had.

"I'll never forget you," Sam whispered, placing the roses he had brought before the three crosses atop the snow. "I'll never.." A soft wheeze, a sniffle, "stop loving you, Jess. N' Benny..thank you for giving me Cassy, I'll take good care of him. I-I promise."

He owed Benny that much, being there for all of them the way he had. They hadn't been able to find his body, but he would be in their hearts forever.

They all said their pieces, they all paid their respects, and in the end even Cassie hugged Cas and then Sam, kissing both of them on the cheek and telling them a gentle,

"We'll visit them every year. Make it tradition."

 

* * *

 

A/N: To Be Continued....

 


	11. Chapter Ten: The Things We Run From

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rain began to pelt the windows and seep into the fire place, causing it to sizzle and pop. Dean took Sam's hand and slapped a flashlight into his palm. The many beams cut through the dark but messed with the shadows, casting them in all sorts of weird angles. Dean’s face was shrouded, eyes looking sunken and face too pale. As if death had suddenly washed over him. To Sam’s relief, Dean adjusted his flashlight to cast the shadows away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally get to see what happened directly after the events of the prologue~! ;D <3

 

"Wait, wait... How did this happen? Jess wasn't a sickly girl and Benny sounds like he was a strong guy, what happened? ...Hold that thought."

As always Meg soon had to depart after that for her rounds. As much as she would like spending her whole nightshift listening to this tale, Cas sadly wasn't the only psyche patient at the asylum, and she couldn't exactly go losing her job, now could she?

She returned instead the next night, this time with a banana pudding cup with peanut butter mixed into it, letting herself in to the ward while Audrey was on break. Her heels and rain were all that were heard on that peculiarly quiet night. There was no sounds of screams coming from the many floors, but that was by and large attributed to the power not going out that night. The dim ward lights were on, keeping away the shadows to those who knew better than to go looking for more.

"Brought you a treat," Meg offered Cas with a quirk of her lips, unsurprised to see him sitting on the large window sill, staring out into the endless mist and rain.

He didn't reply for a while, eyes glued to the rain. Meg drew closer to try and catch his attention so she could see how clear his eyes were when she saw the dark, dried blood smeared on the window sill. It wasn't a random drop or a mindless wipe. He had drawn the warding sigil in his own blood.

"Cas what..."

He finally looked at her. His eyes were as clear as she had yet to see them, but they were haunted. He lifted his hands to show her the mess he had made of his nails, several bitten to the quick and the nail of his index finger of his right hand was half torn off and caked in dried blood. It had to hurt but he gave no indication that he noticed.

"The rain... doesn't keep everything out." He twisted his body away from the window and extended his hands towards her. Meg pulled up a chair and then went to get a rag and some water to clean his hands. The pudding cup was going to have to wait, it seemed.

"What didn't it keep out that night in 2000?" Meg asked. She paused in getting the cloth to look back at him. His eyes were bright and manic in the dim lights and his hands were clenched tight. It was going to be a long night.

"The dead."

* * *

**June, 2000**

 

"Okay everybody, just calm down!" Dean left Sam's side to go to the emergency kit Bobby hadn't let them leave without. There was everything they needed from lanterns, candles, and flashlights and Dean was going right for the flashlights to distribute them. They shone bright as day, each one having had new batteries placed in.

"It's just a black out, people. Benny, help me pass these out."

"Sam said he had seen someone outside," Cas pointed out.

"There was no one there when we were walking, bluebird. Sam probably saw the local wildlife runnin' for cover. There's nothing to worry about," Benny assured, just as the weather did its damnest to make its own point, shaking the whole cabin with a mighty crack of thunder.

Rain began to pelt the windows and seep into the fire place, causing it to sizzle and pop. Dean took Sam's hand and slapped a flashlight into his palm. The many beams cut through the dark but messed with the shadows, casting them in all sorts of weird angles. Dean’s face was shrouded, eyes looking sunken and face too pale. As if death had suddenly washed over him. To Sam’s relief, Dean adjusted his flashlight to cast the shadows away.

"Just breathe, okay? We're gonna be alright."

"No, no there's someone-- I saw, Dean, _I swear_ ," Sam insisted, his wild eyes all but begging Dean to believe him. His breathing wasn't faring so well, chest heaving these fear-filled wheezes, knuckles white on the flashlight. Because he could feel it. It was in the shadows all around them, in the air, no matter how many candles a hasty Jo and Cassie worked to light, he could feel it. Those bangs against the shutters couldn't just be the wind.

"If you're that worried, we'll check," Victor attempted to pacify the younger Winchester with a hand on his shoulder, only to make Sam jump and knock sideways into Cas, coughing into his fist.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you-- The breaker is outside anyway. I'll take Dean and Benny and we'll check it out. Make sure no one's out there while we try and get the power back."

"No! _Listen_  to me, we need.. Things in front of the doors--lock the--" If it wasn't for Jess rubbing his back Sam would have been a hyperventilating by now trying to get them to understand that they needed to not joke around, he knew he saw something!

"I'll take the shot gun. We'll check it out. If there is someone out there, they might just be trying to get out of this storm. And well, if he's not friendly, he'll meet Remy." Dean winked at Sam. The Remington was Bobby's and never missed a shot. Sam should take comfort in that, he knew, but he just couldn’t.

"So head upstairs where it's dryer. It'll be me, Victor, and Benny. What's the worst that can happen?"

"Oh now you've gone and jinx us, brother. Next thing you know, Victor here is going to become Bigfoot's bride and it will be all your fault," Benny said. Victor shoved at him, which would no doubt start a scuffle. Jess tugged on Sam's arm to take him upstairs with Cas ever at their side.

"Come on, we can talk upstairs," she whispered. "Unless you have a good reason why they shouldn't go out there?"

Sam didn't have a good reason, just his intuition, but that wasn't enough, and so he had no real choice but to let himself be lead upstairs while looking over at the flashlight that illuminated his brother with worry in his eyes. He had seen a fall. A bloody fall, and now Dean was going outside. In that vicious storm.

He should be out there. He should be able to be one of the guys, he should be able protect his friends!

But he couldn't because of these stupid, _stupid_  lungs.

"I should be..out there with him. I hate this," Sam leaned back against the door, pressing a hand to his chest while the other passed his flashlight over to Cas so he could better bring his inhaler up for a hit.

Go upstairs Sam, be where it's dryer Sam, don't upset your lungs Sam, have the 'sight' but don't do anything about it, be in a _bubble_ , he hated it.

He hated his _lungs_.

Downstairs he could hear the ferocious wind as the door was opened and closed, bringing with it an eerie silence that was only filled with his wheezes, the thunder, and the ever falling rain.

"I know, but there isn't anything we can do. It's not your fault," Jess soon broke the silence softly at his side. As Cas handled getting the humidifier running, Jess pulled Sam's hand off of his chest to replace it with her own. She was always so gentle with him, her touch firm but light. Jess had learned with great care how to touch Sam.

"I'd rather you breathing than out there proving who has a bigger dick," she said. Without adding more pressure to his chest, Jess leaned in and brushed a playful kiss to the corner of his lips. Her teeth caught on his bottom lip, just grazing the flesh enough to make him tingle. "You'd win" she said huskily as she took his hand in her free one. "But that's besides the point."

Three years. Jess had been his girlfriend for three years, and no one --not even Dean and Cas-- touched his chest with the delicate gentleness with which she did. Gentle and firm, soothing his rattle for him as if by some magic. He was sappy enough to call that magic love, adoring her with every fiber of his being right then, trying so hard to just absorb what she was giving him and not think about what he had seen.

"Okay..." he found himself relenting, her body heat so close to his making it a little hard to think about anything but her, her teeth earning a shudder and a lightly wheezy sigh.

His eyes fluttered closed, her breath ghosting against his in the dark while Cas went from setting up the battery powered humidifier to lighting unscented candles he had brought up.

"Just... Promise me you won't... go out there, too? Promise me, Jess..."

He was letting her guide him towards the bed by the hand, a forward step taken for every backwards step she took. His other hand pocketed his inhaler so he could better the back of her neck and kiss her, soft and meaningful.

"Promise me you won't go in the rain..."

"I promise," Jess said and sealed it with a kiss. She pressed a little firmer down on his chest, fingers rubbing in concentric circles. Sam's next wheeze was a little more exacerbated and Castiel froze on his way to the door. A quick escape, no doubt, but that wheeze would always stop him in his tracks. Jess knew that well.

"I don't plan on leaving your side. And neither does Cas. Right Cas?" She asked, but was looking at Sam. They had talked themselves into circles over the idea. Ever since she had moved to Sioux Falls, it had always been the three of them. Cas had been Sam's before she made her way into the picture, and Jess had always been grateful for his guidance. He had helped her through crises after crises and because if him, she knew how to touch her Sam. How to love him. She had even asked Sam one day if he and Castiel had ever been together. To his amusement, she had been surprised that answer had been no. So maybe all he needed was a push.

"Of course. Whatever Sam needs."

"I think he needs the menthol. Can you grab it for me and and help me put it on him?" She asked.

Ever dutiful, Cas went to grab the ointment from Sam's bag and Jess checked one more time with Sam to make sure that he was alright.

 

* * *

 

 "Oh just give it here. You'll more likely to shoot yourself with that thing," Victor shouted over the rain. Benny was the brave one, or the stupid one, holding up a tarp to keep Dean mostly dry and suffering the rain himself as Dean worked under Victor's flashlight to replace the fuses that had gone out. But with a big ass shot gun tucked under his arm, it wasn't the easiest job.

"Just don't shoot me with that!" Dean yelled, voice muffled by a clap of thunder. The storm was raging around them, pelting them hard enough that Benny would have welts. Around the corner they could just make out the sound of the front door slamming open and Cassie giving a shout.

"After we're done with this, we're barring the doors and windows!" Dean said. Provided that anyone heard them. 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam was too worked up still to really think about his nerves or the butterflies in his stomach when Jess's eyes asked him the question of whether or not he was okay with this. This idea that they had talked about over and over... Their little trio, really becoming a trio. He was too struck dumb to do much more than nod subtly and wheeze that rattling sound that always seemed to draw Cas in like a moth to the flames.

If he felt more like himself he would've been nervous, he would've been scared about the potential to lose Cas, but right then he honest to god just needed a distraction from the way the hairs on the back of his neck kept standing up, as if someone was watching them.

The shutters shook with another violent burst of wind and rain, the thunder so strong he felt it in his very chest, lightning almost but not quite illuminating the shadows in the room.

"Are you sure--?" he began to ask Jess, but she was already ushering him gently down on to the bed.

With some maneuvering (and Sam coughing more than once), he and Jess were soon laying by each other, his girlfriend's dexterous fingers working open his button down shirt just enough to give Cas and the menthol access to his quivering chest.

"This... okay, Cassy..?"

"Yes. Whatever Sam needs," Cas confirmed. He sat on the edge of the bed behind Sam and didn't blink at the sight of Sam's chest. He was too casual, giving no indication that he understood their meaning as he uncapped the ointment and gathered a large scoop onto his hands. He leaned over and began rubbing it into Sam's skin just as he always had. He was going to need a clue.

"Do you remember our first time?" Jess asked, nails scratching down the nape of Sam's neck. She raised the hand between them to help Cas rub in the ointment, letting their hands deliberately collide. Cas would move his hand away but she would chase it.

"It wouldn't have happened without your help, Cas. You thought me how to touch him. Do you remember?"

His touch faltered and it finally seemed to slowly begin to dawn on him. He looked between Sam and Jess, hand pressed firmly to Sam's chest to feel the wheeze rattle against his skin. Cas licked his lips, nervous, and Sam couldn’t help but stare at his mouth.

"I do. You were afraid of hurting him so I taught you where to press..." He pushed his palm down Sam's chest to his diaphragm where he rubbed circles firmly. Sam's wheeze lightened up only to quicken as Cas dragged his hand up to Sam's pecks. The menthol stung his eyes, making them seem so bright in the candle light.

"There and... here. To help him breathe."

"It also feels good, doesn't it, Sam?" Jess asked. She covered Cas’s hand with hers and guided it to Sam's throat where it was best to feel the rattle when his breath hitched. Cas' hand jerked free and he stared at them with wide eyes. He looked almost scared.

"Um..."

A bang below caught Castiel's attention. His head whipped towards the door then back to Sam and Jess. At the flush on their cheeks and Sam's heavier breathing.

"It’s okay," Jess soothed, but Cas was already heading for the door.

"I better... check on that." And then he was gone. Jess sighed and pressed her forehead against Sam's.

"You can't say that I didn't try."                                                              

 

* * *

 

No one heard Dean over the raging storm, but what they did hear was a muffled shout and a clatter, Victor not the only one to look over in the direction of the front of the cabin.

"You think they got the door closed, or the candles went out?" Victor shouted. It wasn't until another crash and shout could be heard that he started to wonder if that was all it was, lead sinking into his gut. Maybe the girls were just tripping? Loudly?

But no, little did Victor fully grasp that something had let itself inside the cabin.

"Hurry your ass up, Dean!"


	12. Chapter Eleven: Past Pleasures and Past Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So you were there for his ~first time~, huh?" she asked in an effort to derail the young man from the horrors of his memories as she used a fresh, cool and damp washcloth to gingerly pass over his forehead and the side of his face. He had worked up a sweat, had he even noticed?
> 
> "Now that is a story I would like to hear, bumble bee. Why do you tell me about that one~," she murmured, setting the washcloth down in favor of carding her fingers through dark spiky hair. There was no deviousness in her that night, just quiet understanding, willing him to see that he didn't have to continue the cabin tale just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some underage non explicit sastiel here and explicit teen!Sam/Jess with Cas involved but not conventionally active.

Cas's breathing was uneven, his eyes distant, a tremor there in the hands she was just finishing bandaging up... As much as Meg wanted to know why...wanted to know more, she couldn't keep pushing. He needed time to gather himself and breathe, especially with how violent the storm was raging outside. It wasn't doing the guy any favors.

"I never should have left them alone... I was a coward... If I hadn't left then Jess..."

"So you were there for his ~first time~, huh?" she asked in an effort to derail the young man from the horrors of his memories as she used a fresh, cool and damp washcloth to gingerly pass over his forehead and the side of his face. He had worked up a sweat, had he even noticed?

"Now _that_  is a story I would like to hear, bumble bee. Why do you tell me about that one~," she murmured, setting the washcloth down in favor of carding her fingers through dark spiky hair. There was no deviousness in her that night, just quiet understanding, willing him to see that he didn't have to continue the cabin tale just yet.

"I only have twenty more minutes, so why don't you tell me about that? You taught Jess?"

Cas closed his eyes and inhaled a deep but shudder breath. He seemed to cling to her words though he did not lean into her touch. At her prompting he slowly nodded but that manic look didn't leave his eyes when he opened them.

"I... yes... I was involved. But not how you might think."

 

* * *

**1998**

"I... what?" Castiel looked away from his homework to stare at Sam and Jess's earnest faces. Sam was wheezing bad enough to need an inhaler, but he was smiling around it. Not surprising, considering that he had spent the last half hour making out with Jess on his bed while Cas finished his homework at Sam's desk. What they had asked of him, however, had been surprising.

"I don't want to hurt him. You know where to touch him that won't hurt him. Show me?" Jess asked.

Castiel was at a lost, confused and a little dazed. He touched his own chest with clammy hands, high near the throat where it wouldn't put too much pressure on the lungs. He then dragged his hand down, fingers light, down towards his diaphragm. As he did so, he didn't look away from Sam's chest. It quaked with every breath. Short and fast because Sam couldn't breathe deeply like the rest of them. Castiel yearned to feel the shudders under his palm.

"No, on him Castiel. Show me on him," Jess interrupted and Castiel could only squint at her.

"What?"

"Jess is..a hands on..learner--" Sam was trying to catch his breath, short, fast wheezes working hard to draw air into his quaking diaphragm. It wasn't easy when his lungs were already acting up because of how many times he went without air while making out with Jess. Castiel had worried but Sam appeared happily dizzy. His own fault, really, but Castiel suspected that Sam would die happy if he died kissing her.

Despite his needing a good hit of his inhaler --or a skilled hand on his chest--, the fifteen year old was all earnest dimples as he reached for Castiel's hands and tugged him up, leading him back to bed with them.

"Show her, Cassy. ..Ple..ase, for me?"

Just as the backs of Sam's knees were hitting the bed, he brought Cas's hands up to delicately press to the center of his chest, his button down shirt mostly unbuttoned by his girlfriend by now, which granted Castiel an overwhelming amount of skin-to-skin contact just in time to feel with way Sam’s chest shuddered with his wrecked wheeze. His breathing wasn't doing so well, and the way his eyes fluttered closed said he was getting dizzy in a bad way because of it.

Castiel showing her would serve two purposes. To teach, and to open up Sam's lungs again by calming their spasms. He couldn’t really say no to that.

"O...kay."

Sam wasn't the only one who had trouble breathing right then. The room was too hot to Castiel and he couldn't draw in enough air to fight off a wave of lightheadedness. Touching Sam was like school and homework and three meals a day. It was part of his life since he was six. Ever since the first time Sam collapsed and didn't have his inhaler and couldn't be left alone. He had taught Castiel how to massage his chest, touching him the way Dean did instinctively. Ten years later and Castiel was a master at relieving the spasms until help found them.

This was different. Jess wasn't asking just to help Sam breathe. She wanted to... be intimate with him and was a asking Castiel to show her how. To be intimate with Sam.

"When you hear a whistle, like now, it helps to touch him... here." Castiel attempted to remove himself mentally as he touched Sam's chest beneath the ribs. The problem with that though was Jess. She was watching intently at Sam's side, half draped around him and tracked Castiel's every movement. He felt that stare, skin prickly beneath it. Yet he didn't stop and rubbed Sam's chest until the whistle went away.

"See? And now..." his hand trailed up, fingers dragging over Sam's smooth kin. Castiel had to swallow down a moan as heat rushed down his spine to settle in his gut at the way Sam's stomach muscles shuddered and his wheeze turned to a deeper echo. It didn't help that Jess began kissing Sam's neck the same time Castiel brought both hands to rub Sam's chest along his ribs. The way Sam shivered and rattled...

"Uh... his... his neck. Rub right along his throat. It will open up... the air passages."

The open airways earned Castiel a soft, rumbling, chesty moan when the combination of touch over Sam’s sensitive chest and Jess's mouth finding that tale tell spot on his neck had him shuddering head to curling toes between them. His chest rattled deeply, from its very core, but he was breathing. Wheezes and soft and quick..but he was breathing, a flush of pleasure that Castiel could feel creeping up his chest, his neck, his face.

"Y- Yeah.. Like that.. Nng, that feels good.." There was no real telling if he was talking to Jess, or Cas, or both in that moment.

They both had him tingling all over, veins alight and nerve endings ever responsive as his diaphragm quaked beneath Cas's touch.He was still struggling to teach, from circular motions, to important spots on Sam's back, when Sam turned his head to capture Jess's mouth in a long, languid kiss, free hand tangling in her hair as tongues curled… Castiel forced himself to look away. It was an odd sensation, knowing that with his help, Sam could kiss her and still breathe through his nose, the whistle no longer as bad so long as he was being touched in all the right ways.

As for Jess, she was a very fast learner. She massaged Sam's throat with one hand, rubbing her fingers up and down, while she rubbed his chest. Castiel tended to his back, rubbing in broad circles. He would catch his breath every time he accidentally touched her. She never once shied away from him either, not even when he accidentally brushed her breast with his knuckles. He denied that it had anything to do with the sweet moan that escaped her.

It was like a waking dream. The world was hazy and unreal. He was given far too much, more than he should want, being able to touch Sam when he was flushed pink with lust. Chestnut brown hair was mused, cheeks red and body shaking beneath Castiel and Jess's ministrations. And those sounds... the kind that Castiel had only ever heard once before…

 

_"It's okay, Sam. I don't think you're a freak at all. I like weird stuff too," Castiel said as he watched the way Sam's chest quivered._

_The porno Benny had tricked Castiel to watch (and that Sam had walked in on) continued to play, but neither of them were watching. Neither of them cared._

_Sam's eyes were locked on the cut on Cas's arm, the scab scratched open so it was bleeding, while Cas greedily watched the way Sam's chest shuddered and spasmed with each wheezing cough or breath. He was hard, but so was Sam, and both tentatively touching themselves through their pants. It was probably not the sexual awakening Benny had hoped for his thirteen year old brother._

_"So, what is it about blood that you like so much?"_

_"I like.." There was another soft wheeze, squeezing himself through his pants with a soft whimper. He licked his lips and flicked young hazel's back up to blues as if to be sure he didn't think he was a freak, before trailing them back to his cut, chest quaking, "..seeing or..or feeling the skin split, knowing that.. Blood..has oxygen in it and it's like.. It's like seeing someone's air on the outside.."_

_Their air made manifest in beautiful, captivating, red._

_"Without blood, you die.. Without air, I die, but just a little taste n' we both keep living.." His dick twitched harder, aching just thinking about it, his breathing uneven, short and quick. "I dream about it... Tasting air, and..and when I get to, it's so good, Cassy--" he moaned this throaty, rattling little sound, unable to look away from the cut._

_Was that weird? Feeling like seeing blood was like seeing someone's very air? Of course it was._

_It was insane, and craving to taste it, to have someone else's air given to him freely, was even crazier. Sam wasn't a normal boy on any spectrum._

_"I'm such a **freak** , I know I am--"_

 

"The wrong kind of wheeze knocked Castiel out of the memory. Jess was pushing down too hard on Sam's chest and another push like that would send him into a solid fit. Cas pressed his chest against Sam's side as he reached for Jess's hand. His overlapped hers and pulled enough to ease the pressure. Her hand was so soft, he noted, and couldn't also deny the electric shiver he felt when he moved her hand down to the right spot and pushed with the right firmness.

"Like this, Jess. You don't need to push down. Just like this."

Sam's wheezes became less strained, more natural, soft moans of pleasure returning. He smeared wet kisses down Jess's jawline, fingers of his free hand curling in the fabric of his best friend's trench coat to keep him close when Cas might be having half a mind to leave.

"Need you, Mmm..please, Cassy.. Need you, stay.."

He wanted to experience what Jess wanted to give him, but he wanted Cas to stay. Needed him to stay, because if an emergency happened, or if she miss stepped, Cas needed to be there to rectify, to teach. Jess was a fast learner, of course she was, but this was their first foray into territory that could very well make Sam pass out without the right kind of touch. He needed Cas to be here... Trusted Cas to be here in a way Dean just couldn't be.

Not for this.

* * *

 

"So you were a voyeur for Sam's first time having sex," Meg surmised, rather impressed really, if it was true. To watch and not be actively participating in the sex? That had to have been either torture, amazing, or both. She at least hoped Cas had touched himself...

Like he touched himself at thirteen, apparently.

"And that's how you knew how to touch him in bed? You guys messed around when Sam was twelve?" There was no judgement there, it wasn't like Cas had been much older, but that was what she felt like he was getting at maybe.

"It was... very unorthodox..." Cas told Meg. He was relaxing against her, despite the subject matter. With everything else he spoke of his 'sexual awakening' as calmly as one would discuss their day or a fond memory. Meg knew the signs of him when aroused by now and he wasn't at all as he recounted. Must have been a happy memory then. Well, in comparison...

"...At fifteen."

* * *

**1998**

 

"Uh... okay," Castiel breathed, eyes going wide. Sam was unbuttoning Jess' shirt, revealing pale skin with each blue button that popped free of her blouse. Castiel's mouth went dry, eyes briefly skittering to her purple bra. They shot back to Sam's chest in a flash and heat spread over his face and neck.

"It's okay," Jess reassured as her hand slid away so she could remove her blouse. Castiel rubbed Sam's chest through a spasm, eyes firmly on the mole over his heart. He saw a flash of purple in his peripheral vision and felt his stomach drop.

"You can look, Cas," she insisted. She sounded breathless herself, her voice a little shuddery. He found himself looking because of it, and honestly, he should have been prepared for what he saw, but he wasn't.

"Oh."

Jess was naked from the waist up, her breasts catching his full attention. They were heaving, pink nipples hard, and each laborious breath made them bounce. He had the urge to touch her chest just to compare, but luckily Sam wheezed then and brought Castiel's frazzled attention back to him. Which was doubly fortunate because Castiel soon heard the obscene sound of a zipper and last he checked, Jess's skirt didn't have one.

"We'll try it sitting up and if that doesn't work, we can try something else," Jess said. That time he did not look to see how her chest looked when she was talking so breathlessly. Or when he heard the tear of a wrapper while he and Sam moved to his desk chair. His eyes stayed firmly on Sam's chest as he massaged Sam at both sides.

It was a smart idea all around, really, to have sex in a chair. Maybe seated on the bed next time, but for the /first/ time they needed Cas to have access to Sam's chest and back in case of emergency, and that meant being behind him. It also made it to where Jess wouldn't have to push on Sam's chest if she rode him, shoulders were safe to push down on after all, and on top of that if he was sitting he didn't have to over exert himself.

It was pretty evident she had been thinking about this a lot, had planned it out in a way most people normally wouldn't have to, all for the sake of making Sam's first time as good as she knew hers would be. Castiel understood then why Sam loved her so much. Even he loved her for that, even with nervous anticipation coiling in his gut she and Cas sat Sam down. His chest gave a rattling shudder with his quickening wheezes, body needing more oxygen when turned on than his lungs could draw in. And Castiel got to feel it all.

Even so, he was morbidly drawn to the sight that Sam made. His jeans and boxers were bunched up around his ankles, dick aching for attention, and _oh_  Jess was straddling his lap in nothing but a skirt. Not sitting yet, but straddling him, waiting for some unspoken cue.

"You're so..nngh.." Sam half groaned in pleasure, half wheezed, staring up at her like she was Aphrodite herself come to be with him. Castiel swallowed hard, ignoring his own body’s reactions as he watched Sam reach for her ass to squeeze and knead.

"Beautiful.. Want you so bad, Jess," his wet, breathless lips mouthing over the mounds of her supple breasts, seeking out a perky nipple to teethe at, lick, and suckle. Castiel looked away again, telling himself that he would not look back.

"Y..you sure..?"

"I want you, too. We're ready," Jess insisted. Against better judgement, Castiel could not help but to look again. He got what could be described only as an eye full; Sam's penis hard and red and... big, curved towards his belly while Jess fumbled with the condom. He could only stare, frozen in his morbid astonishment, while she finally fit the rubber on him and began pulling it down. Castiel wanted to ask if it was going to fit, had the question on the tip of his tongue, but Jess looked up and caught his eyes just as her hands reached the base. She couldn't even fit one hand around him. Castiel was quick to look away.

"I... should go," he said, then grimaced at himself. He sounded as overwhelmed as he felt. His pants were too tight and the trench coat was feeling like a terrible idea despite it being winter and cold in Sam's room. He was in too deep, too much a part of what should be intimate between Sam and Jess. If only Sam would be so kind as to let go of his coat and he would slip away. He could wait outside the door but he really should slip out until...

Jess groaned particularly loud and the fist tightening around his coat and the gut punched groan from Sam told Castiel all he needed to know. Jess had already taken Sam inside of her and completed their carnal sin.

Castiel would realize very quickly why he couldn't leave the sexually charged bedroom. Sam wasn't keeping him there out of some twisted desire to torture him, far from it. He was keeping him there because as normal as he might desperately try and be, he wasn't normal. Sam was a teenager who couldn't (shouldn't) even run for obvious reasons, and boy did having having Jess ride him, ringing throaty sounds from him that his lungs couldn't keep up with, put him through his paces farrrr more than running. Sam only made it worse with how hungrily he kissed her, free hand in her hair crushing their mouths together.

Jess might be a fast learner, but even she didn't yet know the way you needed to change tactics when normal rubs weren't making the bad wheezes go away. She might not know the signs Cas knew so very well that Sam needed to slow down, no matter how lost in his rapture and pleasure he was, while his chest quaked violently, constricting and and vibrating, and only getting worse.

The chance to leave did finally come when Sam's hand slipped free of Castiel's coat to grasp Jessica's hip. He was suddenly unmoored, left adrift on his own. Escape was too tempting, and right within reach. He could leave, should leave, and let Sam and Jess have their privacy. Yet Sam's lungs simply wouldn't allow it. Or rather, Castiel's morals and his duty to Sam couldn't allow it.

Jess either put too much weight on him or something, but Sam’s good wheeze suddenly turned bad. Castiel heard the whistle that promised a coughing fit if he wasn't quick. He thought nothing of his own discomfort and immediately shot behind the chair. He wedged his hand between Sam and Jess's bodies to press down on the spot right under his ribs while his other hand wrapped around Sam's throat to massage the sides to open his airway.

"Do I need to stop?" Jess asked, her voice trembling. She looked ready to crumble, eyes blown and bottom lip bitten swollen. Desperate, Castiel would say. And Sam wasn't much better but had the added frustration of his body wanting to shut down while he was trying to chase immense pleasure. It would be cruel of Castiel to leave now.

"No. I've got this. Unless Sam says to stop," Castiel said. He was proud that he managed to keep the tremor out of his own voice, being so close to Sam and his rattling chest and the musk of sex as he was.

"Please don't..stop-- ohh fuck, Jess, please.. Cassy's-- got me.. M'okay.."

He wasn't all that okay just yet, but Cas was getting him there, reopening his pinched straw-like airways so he could wheeze his shallow, ragged and quick little wheezes between his groans of pleasure, head tipping back to try and focus on just breathing. Jess leaned up to kiss him, caught herself, and focused on brushing her lips over his jaw, his earlobes, and wherever he wasn’t covered in ointment. All the while Sam realized that he could touch her, his hands unable to stop exploring, mapping, feeling, grabbing.

Sam couldn't get enough of her.

And Castiel got front row seats to it all. With Sam's head tipped back he got to see first hand what Sam's face looked like when pleasure washed over it, got to see the why his lips trembled before he bit them, got to hear his wheezes up close and personal coupled with his chesty moans. Castiel got to see the way Jess's body moved, the way her breasts bounced, the way Sam's hands gripped her hips, the skirt the only thing keeping him from seeing their true union in the midst of intimacy.

He got to hear Jess's name sound like a reverent prayer on Sam's lips, the wrecked sound he made when she cried out his name in the end, her sweat slicked body all but wrapping around him on the chair, crushing their mouths together in a moment of abandon, hands in each other's hair. But most of all, Castiel got to see Sam lose it, got to feel his chest spasming for air. With a last buck of his hips inside of Jess, Castiel knew the moment that Sam was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

"I uh... I didn't stay long," Cas admitted, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. His shoulders shrugged self deprecatingly and he sighed. There was even a small, rueful smile on his lips when he looked up at Meg.

"It was overwhelming, being caught up in that. But mostly? I didn't trust myself around Sam, so I had to leave before they offered to fully incorporate me. Sam and I… we wanted things we shouldn't have."

* * *

**1995**

"Did you want a taste?" Castiel asked and brought the cut closer to Sam. Blood welled in small beads, the coppery tang high in the air. Sam wheezed at it's scent, prompting Cas to touch his chest and rub over where he quaked the worst. Their eyes met over his bloody arm and electricity sparked. The intensity between them only grew, as did their need. Though what they needed most, to come or to indulge in the wants that made them freaks was really anyone's guess.

The twelve year old's breath hitched in his throat. The sudden cut off of air caused shudder to travel through his diaphragm that Cas could feel under his hand, and Sam didn't seem to miss the way Cas's breath stilled as well. He wasn't alone in being different. He wasn't alone in being a freak, and while Cas had known that, in that moment it had never been more clear to him.

They were sharing in something that day that --in many ways-- had nothing to do with the hands palming at their crotches.  

"You sure?" Sam asked with a slow into of breath, a wheeze that spoke of pure want. When darkened hazels skittered up from the cut to his best friend, gazes locking, the air itself felt charged, electric and intense.

Hot.

Too hot.

Castiel licked his lips, swallowing hard.

"Yes. ..Yes I want to."

He wanted nothing more in his life and it showed in the way he dipped his head, Sam’s eyes never once leaving Castiel’s, lungs rattling with another breath just before the flat side of his tongue was tracing the picked scab to gather up the droplets of blood. Sam’s rattling moan spoke enough of what he thought of the taste, but Castiel needed more reassurance than that.

"Was that, good?" Castiel panted. He was so dizzy and ached so bad that he throbbed. Benny had told him that it wasn't a sin to self pleasure or find what you liked enough to do it, but he had a feeling that Benny hadn't meant this. He would pray for Castiel's soul had he known what had him ultimately shoving his hand into his pants was because Sam's mouth was red with his blood while his breathing rattled like a diamond back snake ready to strike.

"What did you like about it? Tell me, please," he whined and stroked himself beneath his boxer shorts. His own hand felt too good, sinful but perfect. Squeezing provided the friction he needed to come but it was feeling Sam's haggard breathing that promised he'd find release.

"Was it everything you hoped?"

Cas wasn't the only one with a hand stuffed into his boxers. Sam didn’t reply immediately, instead seemed focused on pumping himself with a low, wheezy whine of pleasure.

Was it wrong? Was this wrong? It felt like it should be wrong, was one of those things their brothers would flip out over, but Sam was licking his lips as if Casiel’s very blood was ambrosia.

"Like.. Like heaven, Cassy.. You taste like heaven--" Another rattling wheeze as he did something with his hand that had him shivering and whining in the back of his throat.

"Do you..ever..think about.. Death, Cassy? Dancing.. Ohh dancing with it and coming back? That..that rush? It's like that. Makes my..my heart beat so fast, my veins feel like..like they're thrumming inside me, strong, and..and it's so good, wish there was more."

"Yes," Castiel admitted, bowing forward with a keening whine in his throat. He was sharply aware of Sam's breathing even as his hand slipped free of Sam's chest. He grasped Sam's knee instead to feel his entire body quake because of the movement of his arm. Feeling Sam's chest was no longer needed, not when he could hear every whine, rasp, and cough that Sam made as he got off to the taste of Castiel's blood.

"I fear it, but I wonder. H-how will I die? Will it be...painful or peaceful?" Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and focused on Sam's wheeze. It was building in the base of his spine; liquid fire. A purging heat that made him think of all the stories of Hell he had been told all his life.

"Will I get into Heaven? That is ah... m-my biggest fear, not getting in. T-to instead suffer eternal -d-damnation... _Sam_."

* * *

 

"I had feared for years that what Sam and I did would be what sent me to Hell. That's why I left, after helping Jess and Sam the first time and flogged myself rather than get off. Sam never knew. That I flogged myself then. I had thought about doing it after they had tried to have me join them when..."

Cas hunched within himself, bandaged hands clenched tightly in his hair. Meg gently pried his hands free and resumed stroking his hair with care. He dropped them to his lap instead, a broken sound that tugged her heartstrings escaping him.

"I had been a coward and an idiot. I loved them. I should have realized it wouldn't have been a sin. And even if it was in God's eyes, I sealed my fate tenfold later anyways."

"Hey, shh, hey.. Breathe for me, bumble bee. Damnation isn't so bad, I hear hell's a real party," Meg said with an attempt at levity, but Cas just made that broken sound again so she didn't try and push it much, merely continued to stroke his hair gently. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll see you there, okay? I'm not exactly some saint either, no one is."

She pressed a lingering kiss to his temple, soothing her hand through his hair one last time.

"Now, here." She drew his pudding cup and spoon closer, banana and peanut butter, "Eat your pudding, alright? I've got to get back to work.. You can tell me what happened when you left Sam and Jess at the cabin next time. Or even the time after that, just relax for me. No more hurting yourself, they'll make me up your doses again, or worse," Straight jackets so he no longer could; people like Audrey were dying for an excuse to put him in one, "and we don't want that. No hurting yourself."

"I have to keep the dead away," Cas insisted. Meg shushed him and let him have a few more minutes of her cooing and her fingers running through his short, messy hair.

"And that's not gonna happen in a straitjacket Clarence. Now eat your pudding. You'll feel better."

"My name's not Clarence," he frowned. Despite herself, she found the way he wrinkled his nose cute. She gave the tip of his nose a tap and tsked.

"Remind me to drag you down to the TV room at Christmas. You're severely lacking in your pop culture education.”

 

 


	13. Chapter Twelve: He Will Not be Denied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jess! Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
> “But you do, Sam. You’re breathing, right now. It’s because of the blood. The ritual and he wanted me to complete it. But I can’t. I won’t." Jess's words were broken by a heart wrenching sob. She turned around entirely to face the edge and the open world beneath her..  
> "I love you, too. Please don't, this won't fix anything, I need you..." But Jess had already made up her mind.  
> "I love you. I'm so sorry."

It was a clear night the next time Meg saw the cooky angel, and it wasn't at his ward, either. Dr. Adler was disgustingly happy besides her, giggly as a school child, while the other mental patients at Saint Gabriel's ambled or crafted in front of them. Craft time was a popular pastime for their medicated patients, but the figure sitting at a round table with construction paper, colorful tissue, and glue, was a change in the routine.

"He requested to come down here all on his own, I was besides myself. I don't know what you're doing with him, Masters, but you're a miracle worker. Keep it up, whatever it takes," the greedy little miser said. Meg smiled, all teeth, then stepped through the crowd to her bumblebee.

"What is that? Can I see?" Jamie, who was the equivalent of a six year old in an older woman's body, reached for whatever Cas was working on. He leveled a glare that would have shaken the devil at her and she snatched her hand back.

"Do. Not. Touch." That got rid of Jamie.

"I see that you're making friends," Meg said by way of greeting. Curiously, Cas scrambled to grab his craft and hide it against his chest. Even more curiously, and much Meg's amusement, he was blushing.

"Oh um... Nurse Masters. I'm ready to go back to my room now."

He didn't need to ask Meg twice. As glad as she personally was to see him --to a degree-- coming out of his shell, she could do without Dr. Adler being a giddy mess over it. No thank you. She had had enough of the psychiatrist for one day, having given her most recent report earlier.

"Of course, Mr. Novak, I'll escort you," she promised him, helping him stand, taking the time to check his padded cuffs to be sure no one had tightened them beyond comfort levels (she knew the guards). He kept doing his best to keep whatever he had made hidden from her, but she didn't pry, instead merely nodding in approval of his cuffs and motioning for him to lead the way so her hand could rest on his back to walk side by side with him.

"Um, Masters?" One of the guards asked warily, clearly believing the man needed guarded security to leave the common area, and she waved them off.

"He's fine. Isn't that right, Doctor?"

"Yes, yes, please defer to Nurse Masters, Norris, leave Mr. Novak in peace," Dr. Adler insisted, all smiles. Well, he was good for something, she supposed, able to lead Cas out into the hall without much more fuss.

"So," she chuckled once they were mostly alone, casting a sidelong look at the brunette, "I'm guessing you weren't making a Halloween decoration like the others then? It was nice seeing you in the common area~."

"No. Dean didn't like Halloween. Too much latex and peanuts. Benny got a bloody nose once for making Sam break out in hives," Cas sighed. He shuffled after her down the hall to ward 696, fingers playing with the frilled edges of his craft. There was a lot of blue involved, but again, Meg wasn't prying. She was curious, but not a nosy busy buddy.

"Mrs. Carmichael did teach me something though."

"Oh yeah? And what's that?" Meg asked. She looked back at him to see that he had his index finger extended.

"Pull my finger."

 

"I want to talk about it but... I'm afraid."

Meg lowered herself into the chair in his room while Cas tucked the craft into a drawer. It wasn't finished, he had said, and did everything to keep her from peeking. Good things came to those who wait so Meg left him be and pulled out a snickers from her pocket while he fiddled around.

"Afraid of what? That I won't believe you?" Meg asked. He stepped over to the window where the carnations continued to thrive and gathered the fallen petals into his hands. They were the same color of his eyes, she noted, when he shuffled back to her and placed them into her hands.

"No. That you will."

* * *

  **June, 2000**

Castiel was a coward. There was no other word for it. He pressed his palms against the door behind him where everything he wanted laid behind, and all he could do was shake and fear the wrath of a God that had time and again proven that he didn't give a damn about his creations.

Blasphemy, a voice whispered in his his mind. Castiel closed his eyes and sighed. Blasphemy. The road to hell and worth a flogging, and yet he was increasingly finding it hard to care. What had his faith got him so far? Where had it lead him besides cowardice?

Resolving himself, he turned around to reach for the doorknob when he heard a crash downstairs.

The roll of thunder heralded another crash that had him nearly leaping out of his skin. Driven mostly by morbid curiosity and the lack of self preservation, he headed for the stairs. He could hear a guttural grunt downstairs, a masculine sound from an unfamiliar voice. Keeping himself low, Castiel approached with caution, but jumped every time there was a bang or a thud. All the while he strained to hear any signs of Cassie and Jo. He prayed that they have not been harmed.

"Where is it," the strange voice demanded. Castiel froze at the bottom step as the side table from the foyer was thrown into his path. It crashed against the floor, shattering into pieces while the contents of the drawer spilled over the floor like the entrails of the eviscerated. His eyes darted towards the fireplace to the iron pokers and the only weapon within reach. The stranger threw something else and then seemed to give up and head further into the cabin. He would reach the living room soon and Cas still couldn't see any of the others. With Sam and Jess unarmed and unaware upstairs, helpless, he had no choice but to find some means to protect them.

Putting his weight on his back foot, Castiel started for the fireplace when a hand closed around his wrist and another slapped over his face. For all his reflexes and training in sports and wrestling, Castiel's only instinct was to bring his arms up to try and push his assailant away.

"Cas, calm down. It's us," Cassie hissed and his eyes snapped to hers in the dark. Jo slowly slid her hand from his mouth.

"Don't make too much noise. We have the cover of darkness but..."

Dean's crow of triumph was heard over the storm as the lights finally turned on. It illuminated them where they had been hiding beneath the stairs, but their cover had been banished. Hearts in their throats, they all looked as one behind them. The stranger stood not ten feet away, milky eyes aimed right at them and a snarl twisting his ashen, bloodied face. Cassie screamed and she and Castiel rushed to get out of the way rather than be trapped as the stranger rushed them.

* * *

 

Jess hadn't given Sam much time to mourn the departure of Castiel, didn't let him over think it like he was known to do, her mouth claiming kisses from him that had him moaning a rumbly wheeze. He was melting into the bed with her, simmering arousal only growing. The thunder rolled, and so did their bodies,  hers soon there under him to replace any heartache with pure pleasure of friction. In the firelight their bodies cast a fascinating shadow, undulating...

Desperate hands hand been about to work on the fastenings of their jeans when the loudest bang down stairs was followed by the lights coming on. Too sudden, too bright, before light bulbs were bursting and raining glass on the cabin room floor to cast them in darkness. And beneath the sound, Sam swore he had heard a scream.

Sam's pulse was pounding a mile a minute, heart in his throat.

"Did you hear that?" he gasped, and would have shot up, coughs and all, but Jess's grip had become vice-tight.

“What? Jess?”

* * *

 

"No... No... This can't be real..."

It was when Castiel heard Jo’s frightened voice that he realized she hadn’t run with them. But before he could turn around, the lights were bursting. He and Cassie didn’t even have time to duck for cover as glass rained over them, her scream jarring while the attacker drew ever closer, paying no mind to the glass. "

Daddy, no!" Jo cried just before he could grab Cassie. Something flew through the dark with a rustling flutter followed by a thud. What ever she had thrown, it hit him on the back.

The stranger turned around.

Lightning flashed, illuminating his contorting face, making their blood run cold, his snarl vicious as he took chase after /her/ this time. Jo ran for the kitchen, Castiel having a mind of what she was going for. She wasn’t going to make it to the knife rack in time.

“Joanna!”

* * *

 

"You're not getting away from me this time, Sammy," Jess hummed, her voice distorted. Her grip was too tight and stronger than it should have been, the skin beneath her grip turning red and beginning to bruise. Sam protested via a confused, wheezing sound that was lodged in his throat when Jess looked up at him. She smiled slowly, twisted and sinister, then knocked Sam's precious air out of his lungs by flipping him around and pinning him to the bed.

"Shhh, it's okay, baby. You're gonna be alright, but this has got to stop. It's gone on too far, Sam. We're finishing it tonight." As Sam writhed and struggled to breathe with his poor lungs, Jess reached for his belt and unclasped it. She continued to shoo him in the strange voice while she pulled his belt free. It was only as she began tying his hands to the head board that Sam had regained any ability to breathe at all.

"Don't worry, we're going to make that all better, soon and you're going to have everything you've ever wanted. Working lungs, your precious brother, and we might even spare your angel. It will all be over soon, Sammy. Don't you want that?" She asked then tore her teeth into her own palm. Flesh rend underneath the crushing pressure. Blood gushed from the wound, staining her mouth and dripped onto his chest.

"I know you do. How much longer can you survive pining after your brother?"

* * *

 

"Chief! C'mon Dean, answer me!" The slap rang in their ears but Dean groaned and began moving in the mud. No sooner had he got the power back on did the fuses explode on him. One by one they popped until the whole thing exploded in a power surge that threw him fifteen feet or so away. The storm raged even harder around them as Benny and Victor waited anxiously for signs of life.

"Ow... God. That hurt."

"No shit, Sherlock, you just got electrocuted! You know, when you said you knew how to fix the damn thing, I actually thought you meant it," Victor griped.

"That wasn't my fault," Dean moaned. With Victor and Benny's help he was pulled up out of the mud to his wobbly feet.

"Yeah well, if that wasn't your doing, then what the fuck happened?" Victor asked. Dean didn't get a chance to answer, a blood curdling scream cutting through the thunder. The three didn't hesitate to run back to the cabin door.

* * *

 

Castiel nearly crashed into the floor from the momentum of changing direction too fast, feet skidding on the hardwood floor. As he had feared, Jo didn’t make it to the knives in time. The stranger had caught her by the hair and yanked her back before she could get her hand around the hilt of a kitchen knife.

"Little Jo all grown up? They left me for dead. She never even looked for the body, did she? Do you think she'll even bat an eye when you never return?" He said darkly and reached for her Jo's throat.

"Leave her alone!" Castiel slammed into the man that Jo claimed was her father, the collision sending them all to the floor. Bill released his hold on her hair and swung at Castiel, but Cas was fast. He ducked the blow and tackled Bill back down. Yet Bill was stronger, inhumanly so. He easily threw Castiel off with a hard kick to the groin.

Castiel collapsed in agony then soon found hands closing around the back of his shirt. The floor slid from beneath him as he was lifted off the ground. He kicked out, hands flailing while a horrendous stench of rot threatened to gag him. Bill jerked him back like a doll and then Castiel was flying.

* * *

 

Sam's head spun dizzily from lack of air and swelling confusion -- an icy dread taking hold -- as the candles flickered all around them as if by some nonexistent breeze. He couldn't breathe, and with that sensation came _panic_ , every rattling cough and wheeze getting him nowhere, weakening limbs thrashing to no avail.

"Jess, stop!" he rasped desperately and even his voice didn't sound like his own, too strained with no air. It was too cold, every choked breath feeling like icy knifes stabbing at his lungs. It was like being strangled by some unseen force, an inhuman force that was tying him down with leather bound too tightly around his wrists, digging into his skin.

Pain to jump start Sam's lungs.

Jess was only just straightening up atop his hips when he was even able to start catching his breath, quick and fast between coughs, diaphragm quaking with every whistled wheeze. He could barely hear her at first through the sound of his blood pulsing in his ears, could barely gather himself in time to finally...  _finally_  recognize that distorted voice that spoke of things that only brought with it fear.

He knew that voice from endless nightmares on nights as a child, as a teenager. Nightmares that always hit after a vision.

The vision like the one he had earlier.

Terror slammed through Sam, his body straining up desperately in supplication.

"No... No. You're not here, you can't be… don’t..hurt her! Don't hurt her!!"

But in the midst of spouting horrible promises it did everything he didn't ask for.

Sam's eyes widened, whole body giving a violent jerk back when she brought her own hand up to bite _into_ , his jaw going slack with a silent cry of horror.

Or was it arousal?

Drip… drip... Droplets falling to his chest as blood continues to gush over her arm and Sam could only shudder from head to toe, unable to tear his gaze away.

“W-why?”

"This is who you are. You know that. I know that."

Sam was hyperventilating, wheezes that were only getting worse because something was wrong with him.

Fear and heat spiked through him as his face twisted with anguish, fighting, two halves colliding.

"Why do you fight it so hard, Sammy?" Jess purred with a bloody, inhuman smile, the shadows seeming to move with her, leaning down to let the blood gush and fall down onto Sam's mouth.

"Stop!"

It didn't matter how hard he trashed, how desperately he turned his head away, wrists jerking so hard that leather dug into his flesh deep enough to draw blood. None of it mattered because once her uninjured hand was on his jaw he couldn't even _move_ , mouth forced open to drink.

"Be my good boy. Open up."

Garbled bloody sounds were all Sam could make and the thing that had taken over his girlfriend merely began to chant in Latin.

* * *

 

Victor fired a shot as soon as they burst into the cabin, the bang resounding, hitting the stranger in the shoulder and sending him crashing back onto a coffee table that broke under his weight. It bought Benny the time he needed to get to his brother.

"Sam's upstairs!" Cassie cried, and while that put them with one less line of defense as Dean ran for the stairs, a frantic Jo couldn't hold it against the woman. Dean needed to get Sam out of this. Now.

They were safe now, Victor would kill him, Victor would...

A blood curdling scream could be heard from Cassie when Victor was not just blow back by an invisible force, but slammed up against the ceiling and held there, gun clattering across the floor.

Bill Harvelle was standing.

It was pandemonium after that, Jo only able to drive for the gun while Cassie rushed the blonde's father. Jo didn't have to see, to hear the bones of Cassie's nose and probably a cheek getting crushed by the fist that slammed into her face.

"Cassie!" But she was tossed aside like a ragdoll, and Benny, crouching over the limp form of his brother, was next.

* * *

 

"C'mon, bluebird, open those eyes for me." His brother's pleading voice found Castiel in the dark. He struggled through it, reaching for his voice, but how world was one of pain and nausea that twisted his insides. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but the frantic patting to his cheek drew him out of the dark.

"B'nnn?" he groaned as his eyes fluttered open, but he couldn't focus on Benny's face. He tried to move, but his limbs weren't listening. He was in so much pain, his head throbbing terribly, and he was just so very tired.

"I'm gonna carry you, alright? I don't want to hear no bitchin'. I gotta get you out of here," Benny said. Castiel moaned and tried to stand up on his own, fueled especially when Jo screamed Cassie's name but that was when Benny got his arm underneath Castiel's knees. As he was lifted up, a shadow fell over Benny.

"Benny!" Jo screamed and the world went topsy turvy. A forearm was wrapped itself around Benny's throat, strangling him. His hold tightened on Cas in an attempt not to drop him but that left Benny defenseless against being choked to death. Cas wouldn't have it and struggled to get free so he could help his brother.

"Cassto..." Benny choked on his words, body going rigid. His eyes snapped to Bill, whose face was covered in blood, bits of flesh hanging between his teeth. To Castiel's horror, Bill had ripped out a chunk of Benny's neck. His arms went slack, all strength fleeing them, and Castiel was aware of the sky opening up beneath him again. The floor rushed at him as Benny was pulled away, Bill tossing him onto the broken nightstand. Castiel's breath was knocked out of his lungs from the blow and Bill turned towards Benny to finish the job.

"No!" Castiel managed to squeeze out and it achieved what he wanted. Bill turned away from his brother to stare him down. Castiel realized then that he was no man, he wasn't even Jo's father. He was evil, perhaps even the devil himself, and he was rushing at Castiel. He knew without a doubt that if it reached him, he was going to die.

* * *

 

“Jess… please…” Sam’s pleadings sounded weak to his own ears, his will fleeing. Blood dripped steadily onto his tongue, the seductive taste clouding his mind. He knew he should have fought harder, make her stop chanting, but some invisible power was falling over him.  Jessica was straddling his waist, weight pushing down in the wrong way, but he could breathe...

The door flew open and her words were abruptly cut off. Dean stood in the doorway, his wide eyes visible in the dark.

"Please tell me this is kinky stuff," he blurted and Jess' face twisted into a sinister smile.

"Only if you promise to bleed pretty for me."

She was off of Sam in a flash, moving too fast. By the time a yell bubbled out of Sam, Dean was being tossed beside him onto the bed with Jess pinning him down.

"Now we can finally finish this," she said, dipping her head and to Sam’s surprise, Jess was kissing him. Dean tensed while Sam stared on in disbelief, and then to his continued shock, Dean went soft beneath her. He let Jess kiss him, moaning as teeth caught Dean’s bottom lip, while he brought his arms around her. She arched under his touch and Sam strained against his bonds. He honestly couldn’t say whether or not he wanted to escape to stop them, or join them. And then next then he knew, Dean had flipped them and held Jessica down.

"Okay, not that I haven't fantasized similar scenarios, but what in the hell, Jess?" Dean demanded, bottom lip bleeding while his hands clamped around her wrists. Jess' eyes went wide beneath him and there was sheer terror there, which only added to their bizarre night.

"Dean?" She whimpered while downstairs the shotgun went off. Sam looked between them, heart pounding in his throat, when a shadow fell over his brother. Arm soon wrapped around his waist and then Dean went air born.

"DEAN!" Sam shouted, loud and strong than he should've been able to shout, his wheeze nowhere to be heard, but even he didn't have time to think about that. Benny was a roaring beast, punching and slamming Dean up against walls, blood gushing from his gaping wound, spraying the floor, the walls. Endless reds illuminated by hellfire itself, it felt like. Sam had never before felt the kind of raw panic that he experienced that night, adrenaline pounding in his thrumming veins.

"Benny, no!" Not Benny. Not Benny because holy shit, Jess was herself again and Sam didn't have to guess who the voice had jumped to.

"Don't you get it, ~Dean~? Hasn't it _clicked_ yet? Your baby brother wants to fuck y..." the being taunted, distorting Benny's voice into something sinister and vile.

"I said NO!" Sam roared, and somehow, someway, the belt binding his wrists snapped apart in time with Benny's getting flung off of Dean, affording the desperate teenager the chance to scramble up from the bed. "Leave him alone! Leave us alone!"

His chest was heaving for air, not a rattle there in the least, too much blood in his system as he rushed to Dean's side and sank to his knees.

"Dean! Dean, talk to me..."

Maybe there was something there with Sam that night, in his eyes, in his veins, or in the shadows all around them. There with all of them in the dark. Maybe it was something a terrified Jess got to see, clear as day.

"Jess?"

Sam didn't know, but his girlfriend, with tears on her face, was dashing out of the bedroom.

"Jess, wait!"  

"Not so fast, little brother." Sam was forcibly pulled off of his feet, spun around, and slammed into the wall. Controlled by the entity, Benny fisted a hand in Sam's hair and pulled his head down, inches from Benny's blood covered face. It painted his mouth, dripped from the corner of his lips. He grinned manically, teeth stained red.

"I know how long you've been dying for a taste of big brother," he said then forced his mouth on Sam. Blood was forced into Sam's mouth by a hot, insistent tongue. It was only a taste of Dean's blood, the one that Sam had longed to taste the most, but with it came an unspoken promise. Sam only had to give in to this thing, this entity, and he would have Dean. It was what the Entity had been trying to tell him all along, if only he would listen.

Sam wanted to say he hadn't moaned, he wanted to claim that he hadn't been turned on in the least by the torrid body pressed up against his, promising him Dean with a taste of his brother's sinfully delicious blood,

but it would be a lie. Because Sam did moan into Benny's mouth, the vibration rumbling through him along with his full body shudder, horrifying the younger Winchester to his very core.

No! Nononono, this wasn't him!

"Get the fuck off of my brother!"

Fueled by adrenaline and rage, Dean locked his arms around Benny's waist and pulled him off of Sam. Benny's face contorted with dark rage. He pushed off of the ground hard, forcing Dean to take his body weight and send them both crashing to the ground. It was the chance Sam needed to go after Jessica. The teenager who should never run, never go out in the rain, took off after his girlfriend like a shot down the stairs and out the open front door.

His blood was cold, having seen all this before, panic (or was it the rain soaking through his clothes) powerful enough to bring a light wheeze back to his lung.

Thunder rolled and lightning flashed, illuminating a figure stumbling over raised tree roots in the distance. Emotion lodged in his throat.

Not this, God, please not this!

"Jess!" he cried, tearing after her through the wet, squelching mud, tree branches leaving nicks and cuts of blood that rainwater washed away. "Jess, please! Wait! You promised!"

* * *

 

Castiel was in a daze, eyes fixed on the dark stain of blood on the wall. His head pounded, and everything seemed to move around him. A figure in white flew past him, a specter in his mind. He didn't understand at the moment what it was, not until Sam followed the specter out into the rain.

That was wrong. That much he knew.

"Sam?"

He lurched to his feet and the world spun around him. The ground was wet from the rain finding itself into the cabin and all around him people were groaning. Sobbing. Pain was thick in the air but he didn't know if it was real. Sam's voice was though, a desperate call in the storm. Castiel stumbled after him, knowing only that he promised to stay with Sam.

He was soaked within second and his impaired vision was made nil by sheets of rain. He could not hear Sam any longer though he did hear yelling... A shout and then the shatter of glass. Muzzily Castiel turned towards the sound in time to see Benny and Dean fall from Sam's window, with Benny breaking Dean's fall.

"Oh son of a bitch," Dean groaned. Castiel stood, dumb struck, as Dean picked himself up. Benny did not move. His eyes were closed and the rain that ran down his face was pink with blood.

"Benny?"

"Cas? Where's... Sammy?" Dean slipped in the mud, cursed, and stood back up. He nursed his right arm and his left leg dragged behind him. His hands looked red, raw. Burns? But Benny... he wasn't moving.

"Benny..."

"Cas! Where is he? Is he still in the house?"

"Sam? He was running... Benny?"

"In the rain? Where, Cas? Which way did he go?" Castiel didn't say. He stared at his brother, desperately searching for a rise of his chest, the thrum of his pulse. Anything. He was aware of Dean grunting and then he was gone, running through the rain and yelling after Sam. Someone called Castiel's name, Cassie? And he turned around. She was at the door, calling for anyone who would answer.

"Here! We're here! I need... help. Benny..." He looked back at his brother but there was nothing there.

* * *

 

"Jess!"

She stood at the edge of the cliff, rain and wind whipping at her body. Her white blouse was stained with blood, her hair matted around her face. She turned around at Sam's voice, her movements slow. Even with the rain, her tears and sorrow was unmistakable. He took a step forward and she took a step back, closer to the precipice.

"I'm sorry. Oh Sam, I'm so sorry. I have to. He's... He'll use me. I can't fight him, Sam. I'll hurt you again and I..." Her voice cracked as her foot slipped in the mud. Jess's head whipped back to watch mud and rocks slide down the side of the cliff. They bounced off of a shelf then continued down to plummet into the storm.

Sam jerked forward, stopping only when she looked back at him.

“Jess? Baby, please step away from the ledge. We’ll talk…”

"Don’t you understand, Sam? He wants you and he'll use me to get to you. I have to. I have to save you,” she implored and looked back behind her.

“Jess! Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But you do, Sam. You’re breathing, right now. It’s because of the blood. The ritual and he wanted me to complete it. But I can’t. I won’t. I love you." Jess's words were broken by a heart wrenching sob. She turned around entirely to face the edge and the open world beneath her.

"I love you, too. Please don't, this won't fix anything, I need you..." But Jess had already made up her mind.

"I love you. I'm so sorry."

She lurched forward and so did Sam, instinctively grabbing for her with a desperate, anguished shout of her name.

And maybe he would've saved her. If it wasn't raining that night. Maybe if the ground wasn't so slippery and caving beneath feet, he would have dragged her to safety.

But life didn't work that way, and when Sam grabbed her, the mud and rocks did give beneath his feet, his stomach muscles clenching up tight, and they went tumbling over the cliff together head first.

* * *

 

Dean got there just in time to watch Sam fall over the cliff side. He stumbled forward as if he was connected to Sam by an invisible string until he caught himself on his bad leg. He couldn't believe it at first. Didn't want to, but he regained his senses before it was too late. If it wasn't already.

"Sammy!"

Dean launched himself forward, jumping over roots and skidding over the mud. The rain stung his skin, the cold heavy and biting, but Dean pushed through all obstacles until he was at the ledge, on his hands and knees, yelling for his baby brother.

"Sam! Please, answer me!"

A wheeze he would always hear answered Dean. He snapped his head left and frantically searched. The rain was too thick but that low whistle in the wheeze was still there. He had to be somewhere...

Lightning split the sky and lit the world up for a precious split second. It was all Dean needed to catch the glint of the light off of Sam's shoes. He was on a shelf within the cliff wall, head hanging dangerously over the edge. His chest was shaking and now Dean could hear a hiss within the whistle. There was something horribly wrong with his lungs.

"Hold on, Sam! I'm coming! Just hold on!"

With Sam in his arms, Dean stumbled into view of the cabin. Jo was tugging as Cas’s arm, meeting resistance.

"I'm not leaving Benny! He's out there somewhere... I won't leave him behind."

"We're leaving, now!"

Castiel, Jo, and Cassie collectively gasped when they spotted Dean. He was limp and each shuddering, struggled breath came with a hiss that they had never heard before.

"Oh no, Sam,"

"Where's Victor?" Dean demanded.

"In the Impala. but Dean, Benny..."

"Sam's dying! We don't have the time. Jo, get them in the car. You're driving. We are leaving. Now."

"What about Jess?"

"She's dead. What happened to the guy that attacked you?”

“Dead,” Jo said weakly. “I shot my… him.”

“Good, now round them up!”

* * *

**2003, Present Day**

Thunder cracked to herald the storm that had snuck up on Saint Gabriel's. Once clear skies were filled with dark clouds. Meg hadn't noticed them or the impending rain, so intent on Cas's story. Her heart was pounding, puzzle pieces slotting into place, but she would be getting nothing out of Cas for the rest of the night.

"Castiel?"

When the thunder shook the facility, he had collapsed into a heap under his bed. She slowly crouched down while Cas had broken into heart wrenching sobs. He was hugging his legs, face buried in his knees, and she saw the lost boy once more.

"I left him. I killed him. I didn't have a choice... I killed him."

Meg didn't know how he would react to her crawling under the bed with him, but what choice did she have? He was alone, scared, a lost boy in need of something to ground him lest he drift away in the storm. The sight of him broke her heart.

"Shh, come here, Clarence," she soothed, wrapping the trembling young man up in her arms as another clap of thunder rolled to life, one hand soothing over his back while the other carded through his hair. Cas wasn't going to tell her any more that night, but that was okay. She would be late getting to her rounds, but that was okay, too.

He needed her, and so she would stay until she could coax him into bed, and stay longer still until he fell asleep.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Sins of the Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What's one more blasphemy to add to the list, hmm?" she murmured, moaning softly as his thumbs found her nipples beneath her bra. She leaned into it, using the opportunity to unclasp her bra. He moved his hands so she could slip out of it and letting it fall by the bed.
> 
> "Let me take you to a new kind of church, Castiel."
> 
> She had never used his full name before, but it seemed like a good time. With the moonlight streaming above him she would've almost sworn he had a halo. That the shadows on the walls were his dark, dark wings.

"Your pet project with Mr. Lafitte needs to stop, Dr. Adler."

Meg stopped outside of Adler's office where a woman was giving the good doctor a verbal beat down, it seemed. Usually Meg would have turned on her heel and go entertain herself for a few minutes, but her interest was peaked. Only natural when they were talking about her bumblebee. Shifting the covered basket to the other hand, she leaned against the wall and made no attempt at being subtle.

"Stop? After all the progress I've made with him? That's entirely unnecessary, Mrs. Carter."

"Progress you've made?" Meg scoffed under her breath.

"It's Dr. Carter and yes, it's entirely necessary! What progress that has been made if offset by the fact that he bit Nurse Myers when she tried to take away his plant, which is against regulations since the pot is ceramic, and then proceeded to act irrationally and violent until he was sedated. That is not including the fact that these interrogations you mask as one on one visits with Nurse Masters are against the terms agreed by his attorney. The only incident we are allowed to document is the murder that he is actually convicted for, that of former employee Tom Spence," she said.

"You're assuming that these visits are being documented, which I have ordered no such thing," Adler lied smoothly. "It has been proven time and again that reliving the trauma can be therapeutic. Novak, sorry, Lafitte, trusts Meg and she has been extraordinary with him. So there was a setback. Put the flowers in a paper cup and give them back. Problem solved, Mrs. Carter."

"Dr. Carter, and I do not appreciate you dismissing my concerns. Mr. Lafitte was brought to our facility to be treated for schizophrenia and get out of the media limelight, not be exploited by the people in charge of his care. Not to mention..." Carter's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "The rumors of Nurse Masters's using, shall we say, unorthodox, methods to get this information out of Lafitte. It is entirely within terms to install cameras in his room, must I remind you."

"And I will remind you that that is entirely unnecessary. I have Mr. Lafitte's care under absolute control. If you have any issue with how Nurse Master's cares for her patient, I advise that you take it up with her. In fact, she should just be arriving for our scheduled appointment," he said, giving Meg her cue.

Meg made her way into the office with a warm smile on her face. "Hello, Dr. Adler. Oh! Dr. Carter~ , how are you? How's it feel to finally have your Ph.D?" The woman was still relatively new, had less than a year's experience in the actual field with real patients, it was no wonder she was so by the book. But that was exactly why Meg knew Adler, a psychiatrist of over 30 years, wouldn't take her side over Meg's, much less when he was writing a secret book.

"Shall it be the three of us?" she asked as she took her seat as if nothing was amiss and she hadn't overheard anything.

"Mr. Novak today let me replace his plant quite easily with a styrofoam pot. Audrey had been a little concerned with the ceramic, so took the liberty of buying a styrofoam holder. He's rather attached to the flower, he didn't even complain about the exchange." Cas didn't trust easy, but he trusted her, and in time she would help him socialize with others. "He's coming a long way, doctors, opening up like a blooming flower, even so much as to tell me of the loss of his brother. Soon he won't be trapped by the demons of his past and will finally be able to move forward."

See, Carter. All they all wanted was for Castiel to move forward with his life, be treated, and recover. No ulterior motives in that in the least.

Carter didn't appear so convinced, her frown balancing the overly eager atmosphere that Adler permeated.

"I still don't think..."

"So he's spoken to you about the 2001 incident again?" Adler interrupted and Carter's brows furrowed further. Meg was starting to feel the little crease in her brows herself.

"No, we talked about the incident of June, 2000. When his brother died," Meg said. Adler sat back, looking less enthusiastic and more disappointed that Cas hadn't told her about the fire yet. Which, as far as Meg was concerned, had nothing to do with Cas' older brother.

"Evidence has lead authorities to believe that Benny Lafitte didn't die in 2000 alone with Miss Moore,even though that only leaves us with more questions than answers. It's why Lafitte's case is so baffling. He is the only witness but we can't be sure what is real or fiction to him and the forensic evidence has been contradictory at best," Carter sighed. She smoothed her hands over her pencil skirt, and then rose to her feet.

"Which is why I beg caution when it comes to poking at Mr. Lafitte's mind. It's a fragile thing as Nurse Myers can attest to, but I can see that you're set in your ways, Dr. Adler," she said with a particularly cold glance at Meg. Meg smiled back, purposely unsettling the new resident psychiatrist of Saint Gabriel's, and watched the blonde walk away.

"Pay her no mind," Adler dismissed and fiddled with a notebook on his desk. "So, how is our favorite patient today? He was seen back at the craft table which is why I know Mrs. Carter's concerns are unnecessary. Excuse me, Dr. Carter," he chortled.

 

The fact that Dr. Zachariah Adler was more interested in the events of 2001 than any other, like a greedy little boy in a candy store pouting about the lollipop because he didn't get the chocolate too, made Meg less inclined to draw the story out of Castiel unless he offered it to her of his own free will. However long that might take, she would wait, plenty content to get stories like that of the events in the hospital or even more childhood stories.

She was realizing more than ever as she ultimately left her meeting with the doctor that his goal here was to exploit Castiel for the story the world was dying to hear about. The story from the only eye witness of the fire. The story that would make Adler famous and world renowned. And it pissed her off.

Any lingering irritation was buried by that evening however, another rain shower and high winds having hit the Illinois area, and that meant endless screams of patients in the dark. Meg felt more at ease and at peace with a candle in her hand than at any other time, really. After her usual exchange with a wary Audrey, she was soon locked in ward 696 with the young man who was closing something away in the nightstand drawer. His art project.

The firelight illuminated Meg's lazy smile.

"Still hiding that away, bumble bee?" she teased lightly, approaching with care to better sit a few inches away from him on the edge of the bed, candle holder in her lap. If Cas noticed, the petals he had been giving her were there in the holder, adding a fragrant floral scent to the air while the candle burned.

"It's All Hallow's Eve tomorrow. Will you be coming out for candy?"

"It's not finished yet," Cas grumbled. His fingers brushed over the brass knob of his drawer with a deep sigh. He was lucid, more than Meg had seen in the past days after he had opened up about the incident that had claimed Jessica Moore's life, but he also seemed weary. Meg turned her basket on her lap, the contents inside still covered. He hadn't even glanced at them.

"Halloween was Benny's favorite holiday. Sam woke from his coma on Halloween. The first thing he said was to ask where Jessica was. I don't celebrate it much any more."

He turned away from the drawer, moving like a wraith in the flickering dark. For the first time he was especially drawn to the candle. Bringing fire near him made everyone else nervous, but Meg watched the way the flame moved in the reflection of his eyes, and how blue it made them. He reached out, fingers ghosting over the tip of the flame, before he drew his hands away.

"Why are you here, Meg?" Cas looked up at her over the flame, his expression and gravelly voice worn. "What do you want from me? Really? I'd like to know."

Meg hesitated only a moment before offering him the candle holder, meeting his eyes with a quiet trust. He could hold it. She wasn't afraid of him or letting him hold a flame lit candle. He was not a monster. He was a boy suffering PTSD to a severe extent, but he was not a monster or a patient with schizophrenia. He wasn't crazy.

"You keep asking me that, Cas. Why am I here, what do I want. It's rather sad, isn't it? I trust you...more than you trust me." There was no bitterness or heat in her words, just a quiet calm with a hint of a sad smile.

"I believe things, things like spirits possessing your friends and brother, but you don't believe me when I say things like just wanting to see you smile. When I say I just want to see you at peace, living your life again, because you can still live it. Live it for everyone you've lost. That's what I want. Even if this..." her gaze trailed off towards the closed and bolted short metal door, grip flexing with irritation on the basket. "...place is corrupt. Abusive, in an underhanded way. I hate it. In fact, if it wasn't for you, I would have quit already."

It was deep truth, and she exhaled just knowing her, glancing back over to him.

"But I can't leave you here. Dr. Adler will try and eat you up, or throw you into solitary indefinitely instead of try and help you, and I can't let that happen. If I leave Saint Gabriel's, so are you."

It was a statement of fact. She wouldn't leave him here, if she left. If he wanted to be in an asylum, fine. There were plenty others in the world. But she wasn't leaving him, because....

"I care about you, Clarence. That might be hard to wrap your head around, but I haven't exactly tried to hide it around you, have I?"

Cas didn't respond right away. His eyes searched Meg's face, his own expression inscrutable. The only thing he gave away was how many times he had stopped to stare at her mouth and her pulse. Yet she wasn't given all that much regardless, not before he was stepping away from her.

"All that thorny pain," he muttered and turned towards the window. He started for the carnation, only to flinch away when lightning flashed. He moved to his bed instead and sat down on the other end opposite of Meg. She couldn't tell for sure if he deliberately put space between them or not.

"It only makes you beautiful but no... I don't trust you as much, do I? I trusted Sam and Dean. I trusted Benny. Look where that got me," he said quietly, staring at his bound hands. It wasn't Meg's imagination that the link between the cuffs appeared shorter. There was hardly any space between them now, but that was what you get for biting a nurse.

"That does beg the question," he added, tossing his head side to side like he was volleying ideas in his head before he was again looking up at her. "Why do you trust me?"

Meg chuckled despite herself, the soft sound cutting through the intensity that had been in Cas's eyes, looking down at her basket as she shifted on the bed to better face him and begin removing the items she had brought. A plate that held four slices of bread. Two plastic spoons. A small styrofoam bowl with just enough strawberry jelly, a small styrofoam bowl with just enough peanut butter. Two cups of milk to drink.

It wasn't even a trade off for more stories, she wasn't asking him anything about his past in that moment. She was going to have a midnight snack with him.

"I trust you, because as ~bad~ as you might be, you've got a pure heart. You don't hate. Even when you speak of Sam, Dean, everyone in your past who you really have every reason to hate," she accentuated the word with the way her spoon stabbed through the peanut butter before she was slathering it on the bread, calm and content, "for turning your life into what it's become, intentional or not, you don't. You still love them. All of them, and that means your heart is pure."

He could try and contest her all he wanted, but unless he outright proved he hated them all, even he couldn't deny that his heart did not harbor the darkness of hate. Regret and pain, but not hate. He mourned his losses to this day.

She scooped up the jelly and spread it over another slice of bread before pressing the two together and sliding the paper plate and sandwich across the bed until it nudged against his leg.

"Trusting you comes easy, bumble bee. You only attack when you have a reason to, and while the others might not see that... I do."

"And what was my reason for attacking the orderly then? The one I killed," Cas asked.

His eyes were rapt on the plate, tongue occasionally darting out to lick his lips. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches weren't exactly a rare delicacy at Saint Gabriel, but there was a heap of difference between the dry goop between two slices of wonder bread they called peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and the fresh jelly and crunchy peanut butter that was spread over honey wheat bread. Cas clearly saw the difference as well with how quick he was to snatch his sandwich up as soon as she placed the plate in his lap.

"Are you saying you killed Tom in cold blood?" Meg asked. He paused with the sandwich right at his mouth.

"Tom... so that was his name. And no, I am not saying that."

"Then I'm sure you had a reason. Eat your sandwich, Clarence."

He stared at it for a moment, muttered something about bananas, then tucked into the sandwich like it was his last supper.

"I don't expect you to tell me your every thought process," Meg continued as she made her own sandwich, "You don't even have to tell me why you killed Tom. I know, and you know, that you had a reason. Everything you do has a reason. You're no cold hearted killer."

There wasn't a speck of doubt in her words, not one drop, lifting the sandwich to her mouth to take a bite and hum in approval. Nothing was better than homemade peanut butter and true strawberry preserves as jelly. So good.

"And you would know a cold hearted killer," he said under his breath, but there was no judgement there. At any rate, he seemed more content to eat in relative silence, breaking it only with the occasional contented hum. Meg was a little more than smug after he licked his fingers clean, hardly any trace of his meal on his plate.

"So... Tomorrow? You'll come around and get some treats with me? I'll wear any costume you like, if you do."

No stories tonight, no pushing for more, not tonight. Tonight was about this connection between them and nothing more.

"I miss pb&js. And food, in general. I don't know what to call what they serve us, but I shouldn't complain," He said instead of answer her question. Meg was getting used to that.

After leaning forward to the plate down on the table, Cas laid down in his narrow bed. He was practically curled around Meg, hands running over her left hip. She looked down and quirked an eyebrow early him but he didn't notice.

"You could always tell me, you know," Meg murmured, a hint of a softer smile finding its way to her lips as she stroked her fingers through Cas's hair. He seemed impossibly young in that moment, so alone here in this place, before she had started to work here. His voice sounded normal again, no longer raspy from disuse. She was bringing him out of his shell, and just maybe there was hope for his moving forward in life. "If there's a particular food or something you're missing, I can always bring it during my late night visits. Give you something to eat that you actually want."

Gathering the items she had brought, she placed them in the basket and set it aside atop the nightstand, free hand continuing to drift through his spiky hair. She'd need to give him another shave soon, maybe a trim. His hair grew rather fast. Healthy.

"Cheeseburgers," Cas said after a moment of thought then looked immediately embarrassed about it. He couldn't take it back now though, Meg had his number. She also knew a joint that made perfect

"I miss cheeseburgers. And human contact. Will you... lay down with me? You don't have to..."

"Sure, Clarence."

She shifted atop the small bed to better lay down and stretch out on her side next to him, facing each other.

"You don't have to force yourself to go without the things you enjoy."

cheeseburgers and knew what to get for him the next time talking sent him off his rocker.

"That sounds like something Dean would say," Cas said softly. The way he was looking at her made Meg's insides a little too fluttery and gooey for her liking. Want she could handle. Affection, oh sure, but the way Cas was looking at her was a little too intimate. A nice girl wouldn't lead him on, but was she really leading him on?

"He would then have encouraged me to kiss you. Well, kiss would have been too innocent for Dean but... I do owe you for bruising your neck," he said with a lopsided, gummy smile that should not have been as adorable as it was.

"I didn't exactly complain about that, you know," Meg pointed out. He didn't have to feel bad about something she had gotten off on... Ahem. Still, that smile of his made her heart skip a few beats in her chest, honestly not having thought she would get to see it any time soon. Who gave this guy the right to be so boyishly cute?

"I'll let you kiss me," she murmured, as if relenting, but her own little smirk said otherwise as she leaned in, their foreheads brushing in the dim fire lit dark, "if you promise to stop acting like you owe me. I'm not here make you owe me a debt. I'm here because I want to be."

Cas reached for her, wanting nothing more to kiss her that he forgot. His fingers brushed her chin before she saw his face twist with frustration when he realized how restricted his hands were now. There was no give, his wrists almost completely touching, but Meg wasn't about to let that crimp their style.

"It's no big deal," she said, pushing his hands down between their bodies and reaching for him instead.

He leaned in, sighing at the feel of her hands tangling in his hair, and his lips were soft and supple as she kissed him.

They were gentle with each other, not so much teasing as they were relishing the soft mess of their mouths and lazy curls of tongue. The only time he broke that was when he teeth caught on her bottom lip whenever his frustration at not touching got too much. Meg would complain, but his grunts and that surge of need was deliciously hot and good for her ego. Who wouldn't get all hot and bothered knowing how bad someone wanted to touch them?

"Just kiss me, Clarence. Don't need t' do more than that," Meg said against his lips. His answering growl went right between her thighs.

"No. I..." His hands jerked between them again, fingers flexing then curling into fists. Meg smirked against his mouth and raked her nails across his scalp.

"I said it's fine," she insisted and caught his mouth again. Heat bloomed when he suckled on her tongue, all that frustration turning into passion. Meg was beginning to share his ire for the cuffs, becoming just as needy to be touched as he was to get his hands on her, when she was suddenly pushed onto her back. She was caught by surprise, confusion weaving through the beginnings of arousal. She looked up and Cas was looming over her, the cuffs hanging on only one wrist, dangling from the hand that he had braced beside her head.

"This can be our secret. I need to touch you."

Meg's breathing was quick and laced with want as she stared up at her dark angel. Her devious bumble bee who could get out of his cuffs this ~whole time~ and hadn't shared that knowledge with anyone. His little secret, now ~their~ little secret, and that should NOT have been as hot as it was. They could both get in more trouble than ever over this, he could easily kill her on top of it all, and yet that was all part of the thrill.

"Gonna tell me why, bad, ~bad~ angel?" she panted, the teasing smirk on her lips playing easily as if her heart wasn't already hammering against her ribcage, adrenaline pounding in her veins. She reached for him, fisting his white shirt to better tug him down until their mouths were almost touching, hot breath mingling, her body arching just so beneath him. "What do you ~need~ it for, Clarence? Why do you need to touch me?"

"Because," he huffed, sliding his cuffed arm underneath her back, hand splayed between her shoulder blades while his other hand curled around her neck. He leaned away, much to Meg's displeasure, so he could stare at her throat. They were close enough to the flame that the left side of her face was illuminated. She knew what he was looking for.

"I'm not dead, Clarence," she tsked, amused.

"That's not my name and the dead can deceive," he said, eliciting a chuckle from her. It swiftly became a gasp when he swooped down to latch his mouth over her thundering pulse. He tongued her pulse, hot and slick, as if trying to taste the very life that flowed through her veins.

Cas got to feel her every stuttered breath against his sinful lips, her every soft, breathy moan, and she wasn't sure what got to her more; His hot mouth ringing shudders from her body, or the fact that he was so caught up in Sam that he incorporated the boy into his very core of being.

"This what you want?" she panted, hands tangling in his hair, her nails raking over his scalp as she tipped her head to better expose her neck. "This prove I'm alive, ~Cas~, or do you need to taste blood?"

The rain alone was their soundtrack that night. No thunder, no lightning, no more screaming from other rooms. Just rain and their want-filled breaths.

Shuddering again, she licked her lips.

"Because that can be arranged..."

If tasting her blood was what he wanted.

"No," Cas growled but bit her neck as if blood was the goal. "I am not Sam, unless you want to bleed for me. I want..."

Meg could only hum at the moment as Cas closed his eyes as if relishing the freedom in dragging his hand down Meg's body. His hands covered her breasts perfectly and she made sure to moan quiet but prettily for him when he squeezed. His eyes opened to half mast to watch her reactions. If it was a show he wanted, it was a show he was going to get.

"I want to feel you. All of you. May I?" he entreated.

Meg was panting softly, flushed with pleasure just from his touch, her nerve endings alight with a thirst for more. She was already answering his question with the way she pushed her chest into his hands, begging for more.

She was _aching_ for him.

"Do you have to ask, Clarence? Might want to blow out that candle, though..."

Cast them into darkness, because illumination ran the risk of Audrey deciding to take a peek through the window, and that just wouldn't bode well at all, now would it?

While he debated how okay or not he would be with only the moonlight through the rain as their light, her dexterous fingers started on the buttons of her top, slowly undoing one by one with every rise of her chest, never once looking away from his dark blue eyes.

"Alright," Castiel said, though it was clear that he didn't quite understand Meg's mindset. He leaned up all the same. He took the time to remove the cuffs entirely as he blew out the candle, then turned back to be frozen by Meg's actions.

"You really are beautiful,” he said breathlessly and she had all of his attention again. The boy really did now how to make a girl feel special.

"I should be afraid of you. You said that you were bad and I can see..." He trailed off. He adjusted his stance, straddling her hips, and dragged his thumbs along the edge of her bra where the skin was sensitive.

"The church warned us of temptations and temptresses like you. To worship you would be blasphemy." His eyes snapped to hers as his hands cupped her breasts fully, thumbs finding her nipples beneath the fabric of her bra. "Show me how to worship you."

Meg didn't blush like virgin girls probably would, she was more than a little aware that she wasn't ugly. She was attractive, but even so, knowing he thought she was beautiful spurred a quiet warmth in her chest despite herself. She smiled.

"What's one more blasphemy to add to the list, hmm?" she murmured, moaning softly as his thumbs found her nipples beneath her bra. She leaned into it, using the opportunity to unclasp her bra. He moved his hands so she could slip out of it and letting it fall by the bed.

"Let me take you to a new kind of church, Castiel."

She had never used his full name before, but it seemed like a good time. With the moonlight streaming above him she would've almost sworn he had a halo. That the shadows on the walls were his dark, dark wings.

She would show her dark angel a new altar at which to worship, starting by tugging him down for deliberately spine tingling kisses while she worked his scrubs top off of him, showing him what it felt like to be pressed against a woman, what it felt like to have a woman's nipples rubbing against his chest. She nibbled at it his lips, biting and suckling and urging him lower… lower... He could worship her body with his mouth.

"Use your mouth, ahhh--like that--Just like if it was--ohh-- a pulse point."

His mouth was like liquid fire in her veins, drawing soft whines and breathy little moans from her painted lips. Her body shuddered and writhed beneath his, back arching to offer more of herself to him with hitched gasps. She let him have and taste and explore the difference between being with a man and being with a woman...

But they had to keep quiet and she knew that. Couldn't make too much noise but _oh_ , as her trembling fingers tightened in his mess of spiky hair, it was obvious his suckles and flicks of tongue were making that task difficult.

"I-- I want--" she whispered, her thready voice throaty and full of need, hands sliding down to his neck, his shoulders, nails scraping over skin. "--you, bumble bee, wanna feel you."

She was realizing she wouldn't survive if he delved between her legs, no matter how much she might crave it, panties wet just /thinking/ about it. Inexperienced as he might be, his tongue was pure and perfect evil, and she would never be able to get through that silently. She need his mouth to muffle her, and he didn't seem to protest her insistently tugging him up with a groan to capture his lips in a swirl of heady passion.

"What do you need?" He whispered huskily, undulating atop of Meg to grind their bodies in a bid for friction he so desperately needed.

"Guess, clever boy," Meg murmured, nipping at his lips and tracing her tongue over them as she brought his hand down to feel at her through her wet panties. He could feel how wet she was for him, remove her panties for himself. Explore with his fingers a place he had never touched before.

"We learn something new every day.."

And as she crushed their mouths together with one hand in another breathy, desperate kind of kiss to muffle her soft moans, shuddering beneath him, Cas was going to learn a lot about women.

Not just about what they felt like, but what it felt like to be touched by them, because her free hand was already abandoning his to delve into his pants and curl around torrid heat with the soft warmth of her palm.

"No," he rasped, jerking back. He shook his head wildly and rubbed her with his thumb to get himself back to task. He found the soft nub of her clitoris and swirled his thumb and seemingly doing his damnest to make her brain go on the fritz.

"I want to do this for you. I can't if you touch me. Please. I'll come. I want..."

She felt like she was on fire, so close, pleasure spiking and washing over her features. She was wound up tight and if she didn't get more, if she didn't get him --her walls clamping down on thick fingers that slid in deep and curled--, she felt like she might explode.

"Then take, angel, just take," Meg moaned on a shuddered breath of pure desire into his mouth when his words caught up with her, releasing his shaft in favor of dragging his hips in closer to her. "Don't be shy now, Clarence. You have me. Take me. It's what we both want."

He didn't need to doubt it for a second. She wanted him. All of him. He just had to take what he wanted and not hold back. Show her what the pizza man (or was it what Sam?) had taught him...

But Cas did doubt. He leaned away to search Meg's eyes, making sure that it was what she wanted, that she was saying what he thought she was. She made it clear without words by pushing up on his chest to make Cas brace himself so she could tug off the rest of their clothing. When she spread her legs and reached for him, she saw all doubt flee from his eyes.

“Come here, bumblebee,” she whispered and that was all he needed. Cas laid down to cover her body, hot and needy against her hip when he cupped her face with such care. He pulled her into a kiss as Meg reached down and grasped him again. She relished the way he shuddered, teeth catching on her bottom lip, before she guided him within her. Castiel moaned against her lips and reach back to grasp her thigh. Her legs came around his waist, pushing him that much deeper inside her body, His rhythm was stuttering at first, mindless in the wake of such pleasure, but soon he found the angle that had Meg bite at his lips and choke on her moans and couldn't change his fast rhythm or the angle unless Meg herself demanded it of him.

“Just like that… oh just like that.”

The asylum, unbeknownst to anyone but the two in ward 696, bore witness to their passion. Their carnal sins of the flesh as their bodies moved together and became one in the dark of the night, Meg's choked cries of pleasure muffled by a mouth that devoured her just as much as she consumed him, the heels of her feet dragging Castiel back in again and again, nails raking down his back, leaving angry red raised skin in her wake-- She had never had anyone like him before. No one had ever kissed her with the same level of intensity he possessed or driven into her like it was their sole purpose in life to worship and wreck her, his growls shooting straight to her quivering sex--

She lost count of how many times she came, tight wet walls contracting around his length, but on that last rolling orgasm? When Cas lit her up like the fourth of July, she made sure to clamp down like a vice to drag him into the abyss of pleasure right along with her, their names like hell-bound prayers in each other's mouths.

He learned that night what it meant to lose himself in the arms of a sinful woman, to have his slack mouth kissed between heavy pants and breathy, moany little laughs, and Meg? Meg learned that she had no intentions of losing her bumblebee any time soon. She had found him in the dark and brought him back into the light and she was going to keep him.

For a while, anyway.


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Angels and Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Meg heard when Cas moved lightning quick was almost akin to the rustle of feathers. Not just air passing through his paper wings, but the unfolding of large wings after snapping them together. It was all a figment of her overworked mind, but the image of massive, shadowy wings thrown over the wall only exacerbated the delusion.

"There we go," Meg announced cheerfully as she dropped the straight razor onto the bowl and plucked up the damp cloth. Cas remained perfectly still as she wiped off the last of the lather from his face, his eyes bright and locked on the wall in front of him. He was like a statue beneath her hands, but all it took was for their eyes to catch a tiny bit and he melted. She was awarded a gummy smile and the reassurance that oh yes, he remembered last night and remembered it well.

"There's my handsome boy. Ready to go trick or treating?"

 

* * *

 

A rhetorical question, really. She would be there so of course he would follow. Her loyal cloud hopper.

The common room was buzzing with life and festivities. There were paper pumpkins taped to the walls, a table of caramel apples, and stations guarded by 'monsters' where you had to play a game in order to win a prize. From the speakers played Halloween Themed music, just loud enough to be heard of the incoherent chatter of the patients.

Most if the staff were in costume, Meg herself included, the masks all goofy enough to not scare or the outfits innocent enough. Meg's skin tight suit and pointy horns constituted as a proper devil's costume, but Cas had enjoyed touching her through the spandex right before he was shaved. Meg had enjoyed it, too.

"None of them are real," Castiel muttered at her side as they were let into the common room. His hands were cuffed again, feet moving in a shuffle. He looked well subdued, but Meg knew better. By the suspicious look Audrey gave him, she wasn't fooled that he was harmless, either.

"Are you sure he's ready for Halloween? I know Adler wants him out but... He doesn't do well during Halloween," she said without taking her eyes off of him.

"Of course he's ready. Mr. Novak knows none of these 'creatures' are real, don't you Mr. Novak?" Meg smirked, her hand resting against her angel's back. He even had fake wings on that she had made with paper, glue, and scissors for him, along with a fuzzy white pipe cleaner halo. All things she had crafted that day while helping other patients with arts and crafts after breakfast.

He was more than ready for Halloween, in her opinion.

After last night, his lucidity (and earlier smiles) weren't lost on her one bit.

"He's going to be an angel, just you wait and see."

Audrey looked doubtful, but that wasn't for her to decide. It was Meg's and Adler's, and that meant Castiel was going to go trick or treating and enjoy chocolate with peanuts for the first time in a long time.

"I'm really not an angel," Cas insisted, eyes downcast when Meg looked back at his face. He mouthed something that she couldn't quite catch while a haunted look passed over his expression. Meg kept a strong face, determined to have a good time and make sure that Cas had one too.

"Just make sure you keep an eye on him, devil," Audrey said, eyeing Meg's red horn and paper demon wings. Meg snapped off a playful salute then followed after her angel. The way his eyes lit up at the candy gave her hope that she hadn't completely misjudged Cas and Halloween.

 

* * *

 

"Having fun, aren't you?" Meg plopped down next to Cas at the caramel apple dipping stand. His basket was full of candy and wrappers, all the empty ones being candy Meg noted that Sam wouldn’t have been able to eat. He pulled out his apple from the dip, caramel dripping down back into the pan. She gathered a dollop onto her finger and stuck it in her mouth, humming around the creamy sweet. She didn't fail to notice the way Cas watched her. Meg winked and enjoy with the flush that crept up his neck.

"I suppose I am..." He said cautiously and offered the freshly dipped caramel apple. Meg waved him off.

"That's all yours bumblebee. I only wanted a little taste," she said. His eyes darkened and he didn't start to take back the offered treat as if he had all forgotten about it. Meg licked her lips just to tease him, thoughts of what they were going to do with any leftover caramel after the shindig filling her mind.  

"When the golden hearted falls, the trees shall burn."

Their foreplay was interrupted as they both broke the eyelock to look where Jamie was shuffling toward them, doing a good impression of the living dead. Her movements stuttered and her eyes were vacant. Her pale skin looked ashen under festive, orange light, and she was heading straight for Cas's table.

"When the thrice blessed reveals all, the tower shall drown."

The candy apple fell to the ground and stuck to the floor with a sickly slurp. Cas stared at her, his flush gone as he turned white as a sheet. The chatter stopped, music still playing on, but it now sounded distorted, like music being played underwater. Meg could just barely make out the song, _I_ _Put a Spell on You._

"When the demon calls, He shall rise and the end shall come."

Jamie stopped at the front of the table and began to reach into her shrubs. Cas stared up at her in sheer horror, as if her words held meaning for him. Horror washed over all of them when Jamie pulled out a sharp shard of glass and raised it up, poised to plunge it into someone's heart.

"I have to stop you," she said and that was when the screaming began. Halloween night became pure and utter pandemonium after that.

Between guards not grasping who of the many they needed to be stopping, and others screaming bloody murder, Meg had few choices but to quickly focus on the only thing that mattered even if it meant putting herself in danger.

She grabbed Castiel by his cuff chain to tug him sharply away from the patient trying to kill him (or rather in the minds of the guards, saving the girl from Castiel who would kill her). Jamie's slash grazed Meg's side instead of her bumble bee, blood splattering on the linoleum audibly. It didn't even hurt, not at first, not with adrenaline pumping that strong, but the fire of pain would spread soon.

"Guards! Ms. Adams!"

But they were stupid, useless guards when there were other patients to subdue who were attacking other patients.

"Run!" she ordered Cas, voice strained, shoving him towards the door in the hopes that he would listen. It was but a flesh wound, no matter how fast blood might be soaking through her costume at her side. She couldn't let it come with the price of the asylum regressing her progress with him if he attacked Jamie. "Go, _now_."

He started to. For one blissful second, Bumblebee did as he was told.

Meg shouldn't have turned her back on Jamie.

A shadow fell over her. She looked over her shoulder just in time to watch the blood stained shard come down, aimed for her supple spine. She prepared herself for death in that moment and never expected what came next.

"No!"

What Meg heard when Cas moved lightning quick was almost akin to the rustle of feathers. Not just air passing through his paper wings, but the unfolding of large wings after snapping them together. It was all a figment of her overworked mind, but the image of massive, shadowy wings thrown over the wall only exacerbated the delusion.

"Cas!"

He stood in front of her like an avenging angel, hands raised so that Jamie's wrist was pressed against the chain, the shard just inches from his nose. God's wrath was written in his features, eyes shining with a righteous fury. Even Meg was slightly afraid. And inappropriately turned on.

"You will not hurt her," he growled at the mental patient then threw his body weight forward. Her hand flew to the sky, opening her chest for a hard blow from Cas's combined fists and the slender woman went down like a sack of bricks. The shard fell from her grasp to shatter on the floor. Cas continued to stand over her, panting for breath.

"Wow, Clarence. I never thought you had it in you," Meg said through the burning pain from her side. He turned around at the sound of her voice, the intensity in his eyes softening for her. It was then that she saw the gash across his chin. He didn’t give her a chance to comment on it.

"You're hurt," he said and started to crouch when the guards finally got over themselves and converged not on the psycho attacker, but on poor Castiel.

“What the hell do you idiots think you’re doing?!”

It didn't matter that Meg protested and claimed that he had saved her, that he hadn't hurt her or anyone, that he had _stopped_  murders from happening. None of it mattered because the guards still took Cas down and sedated him like an animal.

* * *

 

They had injected him with enough tranquilizers to put anyone asleep for days, but that just meant that when he opened his eyes again, Meg would be sitting on the edge of his bed in ward 696, fingers running through his hair. She was forced to use her left hand, unable to lean against anything by her right side on account of her right side being stitched up and bandaged. She couldn't do a lot of heavy movement without hurting herself for a few weeks.

Boring.

Blue eyes opening to look up at her made things better.

"Hey, you," she greeted, thumb tracing over the shell of his ear. "Mr. Hero. How you feeling?"

"Meg?" Cas' voice cracked, prompting him to lick dry lips. She could hear the scrape of his tongue over dry skin and was quick to reach for the water glass on the table. Relief fell over his face as she placed the straw in his mouth.

"The one and only," she said playfully as he gulped down the glass of water. Her eyes were on the scab that ran under his jaw as his throat worked with each swallow. Once empty, she placed it back on the table.

"What day is it? I feel... disoriented."

"That's because they pumped you with enough tranq to make you sleep for a while. It's November second," she said. Cas closed his eyes in a wince. "That's when Sam lost his dad, right?"

Cas nodded.

"And his mother, when he was six months old. It wasn't coincidence," he said ruefully.

"Yeah, I didn't think so, bumblebee, but it's not story time, it's rest time," she said. Cas nodded and opened those pretty blue eyes up at her again.

"How are you? Jamie hurt you, I remember that. I can't remember why she attacked, though. My memory is fuzzy."

"Jaime isn't mentally stable. She was talking about stopping something, like she always is. But she hasn't spoken since Halloween." Meg shook her head, resting a hand on Castiel's chest and patting it a few times. She didn't need Cas to worry about it any deeper than that. His concerns needn't be about the girl who picked up on too much.

"Point is she's in solitary confinement for a few weeks and you're not. I made sure everyone knew what a hero you were and that she attacked me," she continued, lips quirking as she withdrew her hands to lift up the side of her scrub top to reveal her bandaging job. "She got me pretty good, but I'm on the mend. Hurts, but I'll be fine, Clarence. Don't worry about me. Right now we're just gonna focus on you resting up and eating, okay?"

She had brought him a treat after all, in the hopes he would wake today.

“I’m not sure I can eat right now,” Cas said as he reached out to skim his fingers feather soft around the edge of her bandage. When she shivered, he pulled away, which was a shame, really.

“Oh, that would be too bad…”

With some fond amusement and a hint of a smirk she reached for the bag on the nightstand, bringing it over so he could see that she listened and had brought him a burger and fries. After two days unconscious, he had to be starving. His eyes go rounder than a saucer once he figured out what it was that he was seeing. She smirked and set the bag on his lap after he had sat up for her. Which he had done eagerly, she noticed.

"Still don't think you can eat?" She teased and Cas was quick to reach for the burger. He moaned before it even touched his lips, melting over the smell alone, and Meg felt considerably smug with herself. More so when he took a big bite and groaned like it was pure sex. She sat back in her chair, legs crossed at the ankle, and mentally gave herself a pat on the back.

"Good?"

"Very good," he hummed. He turned the fries towards her, willing to share, but that burger was devoured without shame. Meg was just happy that he liked his gift, even though he winced sometimes at the pull of his injury. The important part was that he wasn't thinking about the attack on Halloween anymore.

Meg didn't make him do much talking after that about the past. Didn't prompt or ask. She wanted them both to recover and also wanted Adler to lay off on the pestering for more information for a while. It was the holidays, even worker bees deserved a break.

If Cas spoke up about random facts, like how Sam used to watch him with envy when he ate pecan pie during thanksgiving (while eating pecan pie during their little mini thanksgiving that she had brought him), or how Dean used to taste test everything Sam was given at the Lafitte house to make sure they were safe, she didn’t tell him he couldn't. Occasionally she would say 'oh, that's interesting' and Castiel would talk a little more about things like the first time Dean and Benny kissed because they had had one too many eggnogs a year or so after John had died, but beyond that her visits consisted of just visiting him. Just bringing him little presents, talking about his likes and dislikes. Things he missed about the outside world so she could bring them in for him. She was showing him with consistency that she wasn't here just to get information, and wasn't here to be famous like Adler wanted to be. She needed him to see that she was here because she cared about him.

 

* * *

 

"You're still working on that?" Meg asked one day when Castiel was quickly hiding his 'art project' again. "Is it for Christmas? You still haven't told me what _you'd_  like for Christmas~."

"I haven’t asked you what you wanted," he shot back. Meg nodded, giving him that, then smiled because he had just given himself away.

"True. So that is for me, then?"

Cas sure did flush so prettily. He scratched his temple and slid away from the drawer to stand over his window. It was a calm night, the sky wasn't raining chaos above them, instead fluffy flakes of snow flit past the window. He looked at them as he reached out to stroke the soft petals of his flower. It was starting to turn brown at the edges, not faring well in the cold.

"Yes, it's your present. You don't have to give me anything in return. Just... I want to watch that movie with you. That will be enough for me," he said.

"Well of course I'm going to get you a present," Meg countered with a tsk at him thinking that she wouldn't. Like tonight, she had brought him the game chess so they could play together.

"Maybe a cardboard box flower garden for your window sill. That would be nice, wouldn't it?" With different kinds of flowers, some that could survive in winter and others that would be reborn in spring.

“Yes, I would like that, but I am curious about the nickname,” he replied.

"We'll watch the movie soon, Clarence. They're doing the 'twenty five days' till Christmas movie marathons in the common area." When it came time for It's A Wonderful Life, she would come and get him so they could watch it together.

"And in the meantime?" Cas asked, approaching her with careful steps. Meg sat on the edge of the bed and waited him out. He stopped just feet away, then shuffled closer again. She let her thighs fall apart so he could stand between her legs and stare down at her. Unperturbed as always, Meg braced herself on her hands and smiled up at her bumblebee.

"In the meantime we relax, angel. That's it. It's the Holidays so you get a free pass. You want to talk, you talk. Otherwise, I can think of something better to do," she said with a wink.

"There is something I would like to do," he replied, gaze falling to her mouth. Meg tipped her face up in anticipation.

"Oh yeah? And what is that?" She wasn't surprised in the least when Cas bent down and kissed her oh so sweetly. She was surprised however when he broke the kiss all too soon to whisper pure filth in her ear in that sinful, gravely voice.

“I want you to teach me how to eat you out.”

The chess game was going to have to wait.

 

* * *

 

"What is that?" Cas looked up at the Santa hat seated firmly on his head then back at Meg. She was grinning ear to ear and waiting for him to understand. With all the commotion going on, and the fact that she was there bright and early rather than late at night, should have been a clue. But that was her bumblebee, pretty but not always there.

"What do you think it is, silly? Come on, our movie's playing downstairs and then we can exchange gifts. Provided yours is ready," she said.

"Oh, is it Christmas? Merry Christmas, Meg. My gift for you is ready.”

“Can’t wait to see it, Clarence. But movie first.”

Cas was absolutely adorable sitting there being so good in the common room, captivated by the movie. She didn't even interrupt to talk to him during it, she just sat next to him, occasionally playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck when the guards were busy doing something else. It was almost a date, seeing as how few patients were up this early, much less in the common room, Christmas or not.

Her bumblebee had been wanting to watch this movie for a while now, and overall she was just pleased when he started to grasp why she called him Clarence.

"See? ..It makes sense now, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Cas said, but there was resignation rather than understanding. That haunted look was back and his shoulders were drooped. Meg couldn't sooth him through touch as she would like, not in the common room, and he looked like he could really use it.

"It really does bother you, doesn't it?" She asked.

"I'm _not_  an angel. It used to not bother me as much but... I was thrice blessed, as my mother would say. Some believe that meant I was touched by God himself. An angel. But I don't want to be. Nothing good comes to the blessed, do you see? It's a curse. Were it not for that, I wouldn't have had to do what I did."

The guards attention was averted for a few moments and Meg's hand came to subtly take Castiel's in hers, squeezing and encouraging him to get up so they could leave.

"Fallen angels are still angels, Clarence. You have had done some things you wish you hadn't had to do, but it doesn't change your name sake, or what your mother said you were."

Thrice blessed. Touched by God himself. Supposed angels on Earth. She had read about such people before, and wasn't surprised really that Castiel would be one of them. It just made his story --unfinished as it might be-- all the more tragic for him.

"Good things do come to the blessed. ...I'm here, aren't I? We found each other."

"Yes," he said, relief threading in his soft sigh. Meg went a little gooey under that fond smile he directed at her, head dipped so he looked boyish and young. As if he was still ripe for the taking.

"That is true. I'd like to give you the present now."

"And I'd like to finally see what it is," she replied playfully and let Cas lead her back to his ward and down to his room. He grew nervous as they drew closer, the hand in hers clammy. Meg tried to keep a calm, open persona despite her anticipation. He had been working on it for months. She was more than a little curious.

"I hope you like it. If not, I can make something else," he said and opened the drawer. Inside, about the size of a soft ball, was a blue carnation made entirely out of tissue paper.

It really shouldn't have melted her the way that it did, but there she was. She felt all gooey and sappily warm on the inside at the sight of the beautiful handmade tissue paper carnation he had colored all by himself. For her.

"Cas... It's beautiful," she whispered, scooping out the carnation with care to holding it in her hand and smile at it. A real smile. He was rewarded with her free hand cupping the back of his neck, leaning up to steal a kiss from his warm lips.

"Thank you. ...It's a gift with heart. Just like you."

As for her gift for him, she had settled on something Dr. Adler had told her he was allowed to have (she had needed clearance after all, as it was against dress code for patients). She knew how much he liked to collect things, and this particular gift would let him do that a little easier.

"I'm not good at making things, but I did buy you something I think you'll get a lot of use out of, especially during these winter months..."

She handed him a present bag, and inside he would find a trench coat with many pockets in which to store things.

Meg wouldn't say that she was expecting Cas to leap for joy after he opened the bag,but the tears brimming in his eyes were a surprise. He stared at the coat like she was giving him back his dead brother and when he reached out, he hesitated. His hands drew back as if he wasn't allowed to touch.

"Everything alright? If you don't like it..."

The cuffs fell to the floor, his hands suddenly free. Cas grabbed the coat before she could pull back the bag, and pressed it to his chest. Meg lifted her hands to let him know that she wasn't going to try and take it away.

"Okay..."

"I had a trench coat like this once. It was my father's. I wasn't wearing it when I burned the cabin down. It went up like everything else did," he explained. Meg merely nodded and watched him slide it on. It fit him like a glove and yet he still managed to look rumbled in it. Then he gave her one of those gummy smiles.

"Thank you, Meg. This means a lot to me."

"Anything for those smiles, bumblebee," Meg replied with a quirk of her lips, letting her eyes roam over him to take in the sight of him. Boyish and handsome and exactly the way he looked in the pictures in his file. Young, standing next to his best friend Sam Winchester when they were children. Not that Cas needed to know that.

"Merry Christmas, handsome."

With her gift set aside for the time being, her hands found themselves curling in the lapels of his trenchcoat, drawing him in for another kiss.

That one didn't stop for a while.

They had to break the coat in and she could think of plenty fun ways. It was Christmas after all~.

Meg left Cas to catch up on his sleep, the tissue paper carnation cupped in her hands. She used her knuckles to tap to be let out. When Audrey looked down at the like it personally wronged her, Meg grinned wide.

"Pretty. He sure is sweet on you," Audrey said.

"It helps that I don't treat him like a wild animal," Meg said. Audrey hummed under her breath and unlocked the grated door. Meg sauntered through, heading straight for the exit, when Audrey decided to keep on talking.

"Been noticing that you spend a lot of time in his room." Meg stopped and slowly turned around. Her brow was arched, a challenging smirk playing on her lips. That was all the confirmation she needed to know who had been spreading those rumors.

"He likes to be near his flower. Anything else, guard?"

"Yeah, be careful on the roads. Big storm to hit by the weekend. Just in time for New Years."

Meg's list of names just kept growing and growing... Pity, really. Audrey had no reason to stick her nose where it didn't belong.

* * *

 

Audrey wasn't wrong about her theories, even if she couldn't prove them, and as Meg found out, she wasn't wrong about the weather forecast either. The weekend that hoped to bring in the New Year would be a troubling one in more ways than one, and it started the morning of New Years Eve. The two inches of snowfall the day before were ever growing. Two inches became four. Four became six, six became eight. They would have a foot or more of snow before noon, and if the storm didn't let up, two or more feet before evening.

Illinois was under a state of emergency.

"I guess we're not going home this weekend, are we?" Meg asked, standing by the window in Adler's office after giving her weekly report.

"In these conditions? Heavens no. I'll have housekeeping and the kitchens arrange for accommodations and meals for the staff on site, but to drive out in that would be suicide. I'll keep everyone here and safe until this passes."

Meg's lips twitched with a ghost of a smirk.

"You're so kind."

"Well, yes," Adler said as if it was a universal truth that had nothing to do with his slimy ego. "And the bright side is, you'll have plenty of time to talk with our champ this weekend. I've been on the edge of my seat waiting for the end of his spooky tale."


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Torn Asunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was starting to click.
> 
> Sam was starting to understand, for the first time, why blood made him feel so good. In the midst of his high, in the midst of licking his hand clean of metallic tasting bliss, he could breathe. He could breathe! The more he licked clean, the less pronounced his wheeze was, the deeper he could breathe, lungs expanding without rattling out a protest. The realization was so euphoric, he was so high that everything else had fizzled out of his hazy consciousness. The reason why there was blood was gone, the reason why he had come down here was gone, all he wanted was more.

"It's getting bad."

Meg stood at the doorway to Cas's room, watching him fret in front of the window. She walked in slowly, unsure of his state of mind. His eyes were glassy again and there was an empty pill cup on the window sill. She didn't see any obvious signs that he had spit them out.

"The snow won't stop falling. It trapped us, like the rain had tried to do. The snow was more efficient, though it did have help..."

"You don't have to talk bumble bee," Meg said. He turned that intense stare on her, eye squinting as if he could see right through her and wasn't sure of whether he liked what he saw or not.

"Don't I? That's what Dr. Carter said before she made me take my pills. Did you know that she wants to move me to a different facility? I don't think I like her much..."

"You don't have to worry about Dr. Carter, Clarence, she doesn't have the authority to move you anywhere..." Meg said carefully, projecting her movements as she made her slow way further into his room, a hand up to pacify him. "I already promised you that I wouldn't let someone take you from me, remember? You're not alone here. You have me."

He had her in every way he could possibly want. He wasn't alone, he wasn't going anywhere. He just needed to breathe. For her.

"I know you don't like it when it snows a lot, but this will pass. We won't be trapped anywhere for long."

He didn't have to talk if he didn't want to. He could let her help him relax. Whatever he needed, she was there for it.

It wouldn't do either of them any good if he went off and acted out.

"The fly doesn't need to be trapped in the web long for the spider to catch it," Cas pointed out. He looked away from her to stare at the snow that fell past his window. "He hadn't needed long at all to trap us, after all."

* * *

 

**December, 2001, Directly Following The Honoring Of Their Dead Friends**

The sun was low in the sky, offering only a blood red glow to light their way back to the cabin. They were all dragging their feet, cold and weighed by the loss of Jess and Benny as if they had died just yesterday. Sam and Cas walked side by side, guided by Kevin's lantern ahead of them.

"Hey, have you dweebs seen Victor?."

Sam and Castiel soon found arms draping over their shoulders as Dean wedged himself between them. He leaned heavier into Cas than he did Sam, always aware of Sam’s lungs.

"No. I thought he was hanging back with you,” Sam said. He frowned deeply as he gave it more thought and met Cas’s eyes.

“I don’t remember him being at the cliff-side,” said Cas.

“Charlie said the same thing,” Dean said. Worry fell over his expression. He patted Sam’s shoulder and pushed off. “Maybe Kevin knows where he went. Hey, Kevin!”

The cabin came into view on the top of the hill. Kevin was rooted to the spot, the only one able to see the cabin, and Sam began to get a bad feeling. Dean hastened his steps towards him, leaving gaping footprints in the snow.

"Kevin?"

"This is a joke, right?" They heard him say. Exchanging glances, Sam and Cas rushed to see what Kevin was talking about. Even when they got there, Sam wasn't so sure what they were seeing.

"What the fuck? What the...  Baby!" Dean flew past Kevin, tripping over his own feet. He scrambled back up to keep on running, a slew of panicked driven curses flying from his mouth. Every car had been wrecked. Tires were slashed, the windows were smashed in, and the hoods all looked as if someone had taken a metal bat to their engines. Not the sacred impala or Cassie's mustang were spared, all three vehicles, their only way out of the woods, were damaged beyond repair.

You know that feeling you get when you feel sick to your stomach? That churning, deep pit in your stomach kind of feeling? Sam had thought it was a feeling clinging to him since leaving the cliff because of sorrow or an inability to move on past Jess's death the way Dean wanted him to, but as the cars came into view, he was starting to realize it was coming from something different entirely.

He was starting to realize it was the same feeling he had had last year when he had seen the figure pass by the window.

"No," he whispered on a wheezy breath, a hand coming up to press and draw slow circles to help his lungs not lock up in response to the spike of panic that seemed to wash over the group.

"Oh my god," Cassie gasped, hands coming up to cover her mouth in horror. "Cherry!"

Next to her, Jo looked pale as a sheet, licking her lips and Sam didn't her to voice it --voice tight with fear of a year long passed-- to already know what she was thinking, her twelve months of therapy over who she had shot going down the drain in a single moment.

"Sam, you don't think..."

"No, it can't... You shot him. Jo, you _shot_ him."

Why did he feel like he was lying?

His heart was beating too fast, wheeze getting a little worse, but that didn't stop impulse from taking over. A drive that wouldn't be denied.

"Gotta... Gotta find Victor."

He had to find Victor and assure himself nothing was in the cabin, that everything was fine.

Sam really shouldn't tore away from the group to run towards the cabin alone, much less when fear was making his breathing choppy and lungs rattle worse, but he had to do this. He had to find Victor.  

"Sam! Where are you going?"

"I'll go with him," Cas said, already following Sam as if being pulled by a string that was connected to him. They were all confused and scared, Dean and Cassie devastated over their cars while Charlie comforted Jo. Kevin stood off to the side, hands in his hair and lantern in the snow, as he took in the wreckage that they passed.

"C'mon baby, c'mon! You can do it. Please," Dean begged of his car, but each turn of the key wrenched a horrible, screeching growl that Sam knew wasn't normal. Cassie's car only clicked when she tried, neither were going anywhere any time soon. Sam couldn't help but wonder if someone had done that kind of damage to their cars, what might have happened to Victor?

"Sam? Did you... see anything?" Cas asked as they entered the cabin. There were no signs of a struggle when they entered cautiously, both of their eyes going for the Remington on the wall. "Any visions? Do you know what we might be up against?”

"I keep seeing..." It wasn't often that Sam tried to summon up the sight, usually it hit him without warning, but when he was desperate enough, when he concentrated enough, he at times got glimpses of things and this time all he kept seeing was blood. "...blood. Cassy, I just... see blood and chains digging into skin. Something's wrong. Here something's... not right."

His breathing was getting worse, rattling something terrible, swaying where he stood with phantom pains in his own limbs and lungs, glossy, distant eyes refocusing slowly on the here and now. He barely realized that Cassy was rubbing his chest for him at first, drawing him back from the 'edge' with practiced care.

"Check upstairs? Don't think I... can manage the climb… right now." Not after running, not when worry and apprehension was in every wheeze. "I'll check down here."

* * *

 

"Take the gun," Castiel insisted. There were no signs of trouble downstairs. He couldn't hear anything, there was no banging or yelling like last time. That said, there was no telling what might be lurking upstairs. It was better that Castiel went up there rather than Sam.

"And be careful. Please."

Clasping Sam's shoulder, Castiel turned towards the stairs. He registered Sam slipping from his grasp, his fingers curling around air when he saw something move in the shadows upstairs. It was just his mind playing tricks on him. Since last year... It wasn't the first shadow he had seen moved in the corner of his eye.

That did not mean that he wasn't afraid.

"There's nothing there," Castiel muttered under his breath. His heart was thundering in his throat as he ascended the stairs one by one, his footsteps loud to his own ears.

"There's nothing there."

The second floor was quiet. He did not hear a peep or a rustle. Telling himself again that there was nothing there, he began checking room after room. Charlie and Jo's were clear, the bathroom: clear. Victor and Kevin's room: clear. The next room was Dean and Cassie's, the room Sam had shared with Jess last year. He walked in slowly, turning the light on and flooding the room in fluorescent light. Not seeing anything, Castiel was about to move on when a shadow flit past his vision in his right eye. He turned sharply, almost choking on his heart now, but there was nothing.

"There's nothing there," he said, eyes jumping from corner to corner. He began backing away, keeping his eyes on the window long ago repaired. "There is nothing there."

The door slammed shut behind him. Castiel jumped as red liquid began to spread over the walls and the carpet. One drop, then two, appeared on the flowery bedspread as if dropping from the ceiling, but the ceiling was clean.

"There is nothing there. There is nothing there," he insisted. He closed his eyes and willed the hallucinations to go away. They. Weren't. _Real_.

"Then what am I, blue bird? Your imaginary friend?"

Castiel's eyes flew open to reveal the decaying form of his brother.

"You're not real. You're not real!"

"Oh I'm real. Here, let me prove it to you."

Before Castiel could scream, a hand with flesh rotting off the bone covered his mouth.

"Sorry, little brother. Can't have you raising the alarm now, can we?" Benny crooned, his voice right next to Castiel's ear. Castiel's plea was muffled against his palm, the rotting hand clamping even tighter over his mouth. His grip was like a vice, the freezing cold touch of his body paralyzing Castiel. There was no pulse against his mouth, no breath wafting over his skin. Dead. It couldn’t be real.

"Oh, I'm real. All of this is real, Cassy. You can blame your boyfriend for that. But oh, it's not really his fault, is it? Poor little Sammy. He never asked for all this, but that don't mean it's gonna stop. And it's not, you know. This will finish and you could play such a big part, little brother. Would sure make me proud. All you have to do is let things happen. Try and stop it and well... you'll have to answer to me."

Benny's hand fell away, the frigid cold leaving with him. Castiel's eyes were closed shut, his body shuddering from fright. He counted to ten in his head, waiting with each count for something to happen. At ten, he opened his eyes and found himself completely alone. The door hadn't opened, the window was closed.

It hadn't been real. Castiel was losing his mind. He had to be.

"It wasn't real," he whispered, even as the door behind him began to open. Castiel froze, a cold sweat beaded on his skin. He began to turn around, telling him there was no one there, when a hand clamped on his shoulder, making him jump.

"Cas? Where's Sam?" Dean asked.

* * *

 

Sam stared down the deep pit of the basement from the stairs. The lower half of the cabin had been clear, leaving only one room left to check. Dean had yet to replace the light bulb, Sam’s only light was what streamed from downstairs. The hairs at the back of his neck were standing on end and Sam could only clench the shot gun a little tighter, knuckles white.

"It's dark down there," he whispered to himself. "Nobody's here. Bill's dead.." Another wheezy breath and Sam was pushing the cracked door open.

The darkness itself seemed to creep up out of the absolute nothingness that was the basement, reaching out for Sam like an old friend, and Sam wanted to say fear rooted him to the spot.

But it didn't. He only wished it had.

Terror moved him forward instead. The teenager was halfway down the stairs when it happened. His pulse was the only sound in his ears when he felt it. A breeze in a room with no windows, cold as ice, zipping passed him and slamming the door shut, goosebumps erupting over Sam's arms, his neck.

"C-Cassy? Cas is that..."

But the breeze had brought with it a coppery scent that flooded Sam's nose with his next rattly breath and ohhh...

Dizzy, veins itching with something else entirely, Sam took the last few steps down into the darkness.

"V...Victor...?

He couldn't see anything, but he heard the squelch of his boot stepping in something wet. Heard the sound of something rolling away when his foot nudged it, his breath lodging in his throat. His lungs didn't agree with the sudden cut off of the straw. His coughs shook his whole diaphragm, and he was sinking to his knees whether he wanted to or not.

Sam couldn't breathe, every cough made it worse, trembling hands forced to abandon the gun in favor of leaning forward onto his hands, fingers spreading through warm liquid.

"Ohgod… ohgod..."

Anyone else would've screamed when they put together what warm blood meant. Anyone else would  have had the lung capacity.

But Dean's little brother did not. Dean's little brother couldn't breathe and he didn't have his inhaler on him.

"Don't… I don’t… want to, I..."

But it was like whatever had drawn him down here had known he couldn't resist for long.

It was starting to click.

Sam was starting to understand, for the first time, why blood made him feel so good. In the midst of his high, in the midst of licking his hand clean of metallic tasting bliss, he could breathe. He could breathe! The more he licked clean, the less pronounced his wheeze was, the deeper he could breathe, lungs expanding without rattling out a protest. The realization was so euphoric, he was so high that everything else had fizzled out of his hazy consciousness. The reason why there was blood was gone, the reason why he had come down here was gone, all he wanted was more.

"Sam? Please tell me you're down here, kiddo," came Cassie's worried voice as she descended the stairs with her flashlight.

The light cut through the darkness the same way it cut through Sam's haze, her fear laced voice and footsteps snapping him out of his blood drunk daze enough to realize what he was seeing. Red. Red everywhere, all around him. On him.

In him.

Horror and revulsion swept through the younger Winchester all at once, color draining from his face. _What did I do? What did I do?_  Cassie stepped closer as he scrambled up from the squelchy floor.

"Holy fuck," he gasped sharply, backing up into the side of the staircase just in time for Cassie to reach the bottom.

"Sammy, are you..?" But her flashlight landed on the mess of blood and a body torn limb. From. Limb.

Victor was all over the basement. In pieces.

"I-I fell, I had an asthma attack, I..."

But Cassie wasn't listening, oh no. Cassie lost it. She was screaming and Sam's heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest it was beating so fast, panic taking over.

Sam ran.

He stumbled his bloody way upstairs, desperate to find his brother.

“Dean!”

"Sam!"

Dean jumped the last three steps and took off running as soon as he hit. He ran to Sam, meeting him in the middle of the living room, eyes wide as he took in the blood that covered Sam’s body. It stained his jeans from the knees down, making his clothes cling stickily to his skin. It was drying on his face. Dean looked like he was going to have a heart attack.

"Jesus, are you hurt? Is this your blood, Sam?" At Sam's shake of the head, he saw understanding dawn. Dean made a choked sound but that didn’t stop him from shaking out of his jacket and start cleaning Sam’s mouth clean of Victor’s blood.

"Sam's hurt?"

Dean glanced up at Cas on the stairs before he looked back down at Sam. He met his baby brother's eyes as he finished cleaning his face. He then placed the shirt in Sam's hands for him to wipe his fingers off.

"Sam's fine but he needs his inhaler! Someone check the kitchen," Dean said.

Sam was breathing fine but he was shaking, practically vibrating under Dean's worried touch. It was Dean’s way of giving Sam more time to hastily wipe his fingers off. He was pale as a sheet, stomach churning. He felt sick.

"I-I-I didn't mean to, Dee, I swear." But his brother was shushing him, their eyes meeting again, Sam's frazzled, dilated hazels meeting greens that didn't hold any blame. Never held any blame. Never looked at him like a freak. Sam drew in another shuddered breath, worrying at his bottom lip.

“I had an asthma attack in the basement. I dropped the shotgun, and there was... Dean there was blood everywhere, I couldn't breathe, and then..."

"Guys, we have a problem here! The phone's aren't working!" Kevin yelled from the phone by the kitchen.

"My cell doesn't have any signal either," Jo called back from upstairs.

"Victor... he's in the basement... oh God," Sam managed to finally get out, breathing ragged, free hand shooting out to curl in Dean's shirt before he could rush off to see, eyes begging Dean to listen first, "He's in pieces. Dean, he's in _pieces_. We're not alone."

The others rushed past like a blur. Only Cas came back, holding Sam's inhaler. Charlie, Jo, and Kevin's yells rose up from the basement, a mix of horror and anguish. Outside the wind began to howl. Dean didn't keep his eyes off of Sam.

"Go get cleaned up, Sammy. Take Cas with you. Cas, did you see anything up stairs?" Dean finally looked away from Sam to meet Cas's eyes. They were wet and wide, on the verge of sheer panic. Cas didn't reply at first but he soon slowly he shook his head.

"No, I didn't see anything but I didn't clear my and Sam's room yet."

Working free of Sam’s grip, Dean held his finger up and dashed to his bag of emergency stuff by the couch. He rummaged through flashlights and batteries to grab what was hidden in the bottom. He stashed the bloody shirt in there instead for the meantime then returned to Sam and Cas. He placed the colt in Cas's hands.

"You see anything, you shoot it. I'll come up to double check in a bit."

"You're surprisingly calm about this," Cas said suspiciously.

"Can we afford me losing my head right now? Get Sam up and cleaned off, Cas. Then I'm going to need your help."

"Help with what?" Cas asked as he took the gun.

"Barring the doors and windows. If someone's out there, he's not coming in. The weather can have him."

* * *

 

"Oh God, Victor." Dean turned away briefly, eyes falling on the others that stood at the top of the stairs.  

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Kevin said. Dean didn't blame him. He wasn't doing so hot himself.

"Jo, wh…” Dean closed his eyes and cleared his throat. “Why don't you guys finish searching the house? If you don't feel safe, get the gun from Cas. We need to make sure this house is completely clear," Dean said before he made himself look back to the crime scene.  

Dean swallowed hard as he flashed his light over Victor. What was left of him. Sam hadn't been exaggerating, Victor had been ripped apart. Not cut, Dean might be going to school for respiratory therapy, but he could tell when a wound that was cut with an instrument. No, the skin was damaged, ripped around the wounds. Arms and legs had been forcibly ripped from his body.

"Who the hell would do this? _How_  did they do this?" Dean flashed the light up Victor's bloodied torso, up to his neck to the empty space where his head used to be. Dean moved the beam across the trail of blood over the floor where there was a lump in the shadows. Bile burned the back of his throat while the light inched closer and closer to the lump. It was just about to reach it when something moved in the corner of Dean's eye. He flashed the light up quick, only to illuminate Cassie standing over a chest

"Cassie? What are you still doing down here baby?"

Cassie’s expression was the picture of calm, or was it shock, motioning to what she had found. Her flashlight lay forgotten among the blood, illuminating the shotgun Sam had dropped and Victor's ripped off head, and the trunk that had Victor's yet curled fingers on the handles.

"He was trying to open the chest. Whatever killed him didn’t want him getting inside," Cassie said.

If nothing else, it got Charlie's attention.

“What do you think is inside?”

"Victor is on the floor in pieces and you want to look through the treasure chest?" Dean asked Charlie incredulously, flashing his light over the body. Charlie squeaked and went green, feet shuffling back towards the stairs.

"I know. It's just that..."

Dean heard the pressurized whoosh of something that hadn't been opened in a long time being opened. He didn't see the dust that entered the air but he sure as hell breathed it in and started choking on it. Holding his shirt over his nose, he turned towards the chest, dust motes now seen in the beam of his flashlight, to illuminate Cassie crouched before the damn thing.

"Cassie, what the hell!"

"Is that a puzzle box?"

Charlie darted forward to rummage through the chest with Cassie, a fucking _body_  right behind them. Biting his lips together in frustration, Dean growled in the back of his throat and went to find a tarp to at least cover Victor with before he went and boarded the goddamn place himself. Preferably before anyone else was killed.

 

 


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Secrets and Puzzle Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have noticed..." Cas slid his hand slowly up Sam's chest, eyes tracking its movement, up to Sam's throat. He carefully pressed down, hard enough to feel Sam's pulse against his skin. He didn't cough like he would have had Cas done that before he drank blood. "You breathe better after you taste blood. This morning..."
> 
> Cas looked up at Sam, eyes wide with his realization. His hand slid down to Sam's chest again, both hands spreading over his pecs. There was the faintest of wheezes there, but hardly the familiar rattle. After all, with the amount of blood Sam's consumed.

"What did you really see?"

Sam closed the door behind him and leaned against it. There was not a wheeze to be heard, much less any pauses between words. He rubbed his chest out of pure habit alone while aware of Cas watching his chest rise and fall with hardly a quiver or a rattle.

"You saw something, I know you. You lied to Dean."

"I..." Castiel gripped the back of his neck and sighed. He looked defeated, his shoulders sagging. "I didn't lie to Dean, Sam. I saw something... yes, but it wasn't real. It couldn't have been," he said, looking down at the floor. Sam waited him out, sensing that there was more. Cas rubbed his temple then looked back up at Sam.

"I know it wasn't real because I saw Benny. I think I'm starting to see things. Like my mother did."

Sam took another hit of the inhaler, not because he needed to, but because it was familiar. Comforting, in that way, and maybe it would help his heart to calm down.

"...Benny?" he repeated, trying not to think about the cold wind that had whipped past him in the basement. He had to get out of these clothes, but something told Sam that Cas needed him more, and if anything could've stopped him from moving to go change, it was that.

Benny was dead and Cas had seen him.

"Hey..." Swallowing hard, lightly trembling hands came up to cup either side of his best friend's neck, bringing those worried, deep blues to his. He had missed a spot when he was cleaning off his hands, evident when he left a smear of red over Cas’ throat. Sam forced himself to keep looking into Cas’s eyes and not away at the blood. "...We'll figure it out, okay? You're not crazy, Cas, and if… if something's wrong, we can go see Jo's therapist when this is over. Or someone else. We’ll get you help, I promise."

"I hear him sometimes," Castiel admitted, leaning into Sam’s touch. He closed his eyes as if in relief though he still looked burdened.

"I miss him. I think that's why I saw him. I don't know.”

"Grief affects us in different ways," Sam reminded his best friend gently. As a sophomore mental health student and someone who knew personal grief intimately, he should know. "There's a lot of memories here, so of course that's gonna have an effect, but it doesn't mean schizophrenia. You're not your mom, Cassy, not until proven otherwise."

Cas nodded, but Sam wasn’t sure if he was providing a lot of comfort. Cas looked down again, teeth worrying the cut on his bottom lip. Sam wet his lips and began to pull back. He really should change.

“And Victor?” Cas asked as Sam’s hands slid away. Sam paused, frowning as Cas looked back up at him. “Is he really..?”

Sam turned a little green around the edges. His breathing took on a quiet, ragged edge, hands falling away completely, eyes closing against the mental pictures. All that blood… A tremor returned to his hands and it echoed in his voice.

"He's gone. Someone ripped him up, and I couldn't... when I was down there, there was so much _blood_ , Cas. There was so much blood, and I don't know if I'm gonna be okay if someone else dies."

Hell, he wasn't so sure he was okay _now_.

Sam exhaled slowly when a hand pressed over his chest. He then felt a thumb swipe away blood that was drying in the corner of his mouth. It took more control than Sam really had to not chase Cas’ thumb with his tongue.

"What do you need, Sam? What can I do to help?" Cas asked.

"I don't know," Sam answered, frazzled. He searched Cas’ eyes, begging him silently not to turn his back on him here, "But I was in the basement having an asthma attack, Cas. I couldn't breathe. I was _scared_. The blood smelled so _good_. It was warm and I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop, and suddenly I could breathe again and I just wanted more."

He drank. He licked and ate as much as his hands could scoop up. How fucked up could he be?

How had it stopped his asthma attack?

"I don't know what's wrong with me. But that wasn't okay. That wasn't right... Victor was _dead_."

A trembling hand shoved through his hair, gripping a stressed fistful. He wasn't okay, he didn't think he was okay, he could breathe for a little while, but what did it mean? What did any of it mean?

"I have noticed..." Cas slid his hand slowly up Sam's chest, eyes tracking its movement, up to Sam's throat. He carefully pressed down, hard enough to feel Sam's pulse against his skin. He didn't cough like he would have had Cas done that before he drank blood. "You breathe better after you taste blood. This morning..."

Cas looked up at Sam, eyes wide with his realization. His hand slid down to Sam's chest again, both hands spreading over his pecs. There was the faintest of wheezes there, but hardly the familiar rattle. After all, with the amount of blood Sam's consumed.

"I think that is why your food tasted differently. Last night you couldn't stop drinking the beer Victor handed you and this morning when Jo went down to get you something to drink, Victor already had a glass waiting for you. It sounds crazy, I know, but I think he was deliberately feeding you his blood, Sam."

"W-why would he do that?" Sam asked, heart racing, worrying at his bottom lip again as hazels skittered to the door as if worried Dean would suddenly barge in and know he really was a freak. "Why would Victor... It doesn't make any sense. I need to stop, right?"

Clammy hands drifted of their own accord over his shirt, through blood stains, his eyes fluttering shut as want slammed into his gut. Fear of losing how easy it was to breathe.

"I'm not s'pose to breathe, Cassy. Jess died. Benny died, now Victor. It's not right."

They both knew that every good thing that happened to him came with a terrible price.

"Maybe not, but... You always pay for something good. Maybe this time you had to pay for what you wanted first. You've always wanted a normal life, Sam."

Sam shook his head. Nothing right could be gained from drinking blood like some vampire gothic.

"You know you never have to ask, right?" Cas asked before he worried the cut on his lip open with his teeth.

"Cassy, don't." But Sam was already fixated on the blood gathering on Castiel's lower lip, "I don't want this to be my fault. I don't want what I wanted, to be why people are dying, I don't... We don't even know why Victor would… even... _Who_ killed him?"

But the more he breathed in Cas's blood, the less coherent his thoughts became and before Sam knew he was groaning and throwing himself into his best friend, their bodies colliding with a loud thud against the wall.

Desperate hands were grabbing Cas's face and before either of them could've made heads or tails of it, Sam was crushing their mouths together in a hungry kiss. It was wrong. Whatever was happening here was wrong, but that didn't stop Sam from moaning into Cassy's mouth, body pressing in flush against him as hands tangled in dark, spiky hair.

* * *

 

"If that bastard is still in here with us and he kills us, it will be our own fault for not checking thoroughly," Dean muttered as he hammered the last nail into the board across the living room window. With his hammer still in his hand, he wiped the sweat off of his brow. The spare boards had been limited and only a few windows had actual shutters they could close tight. As it was, he was going to have to rely on the door's deadbolt to keep them safe. Dean wasn't exactly feeling confident towards their safety.

"Okay, next we need to gather every food item and figure out rationing."

Dean turned around, wheels whirling in his head, and stopped at the sound of a clatter from the kitchen. Charlie was dumping a bunch of crap onto the table, the puzzle box making a solid sounding thud in the center. Dean's patience had been barely holding together by a thread. Working to bar the cabin from the psycho that had killed his best friend had helped, but watching Charlie be so fucking blase when Victor was dead, was the final straw.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Dean growled. He gained little satisfaction in the way Charlie squeaked and jumped. Or in the frightened look she gave him as he stalked forward with the hammer still in hand.

"Victor is dead, our cars are totaled, the landline is dead and we have no signal, no wifi. My cell is on emergency mode and so far, fucking nada, and you're here rummaging through dusty books?"

Dean snatched one up off the table and threw it hard behind him. Charlie jumped again, her eyes wide and fearful. What he was doing was wrong and he knew it, but Dean couldn't stop. He was angry and terrified and Charlie wanted to play treasure hunter. Dean just couldn't deal with it.

"Does that mean anything to you? That we could fucking die?!"

He grabbed another journal to throw but Charlie lunged forward and grabbed it with both hands.

"Dean, stop! I do care! I'm just as scared as the rest of you but if I stop, if I think about it, I'm going to cry and I won't stop. I am scared, Dean. I am so scared, but I have to do this."

"Why?" Dean demanded. "Why is this so important?"

"Because Victor died for what was in that chest. And I think that whatever he wanted is in that box and I have to crack it. Those symbols are seriously weird, like bad mojo weird, and I know that's kind of been your MO. Well, you Winchesters. Bad mojo," Charlie entreated.

"What does my family have to do with this? Are you blaming me for Victor's death? You want to put Jess and Benny on that list too?"

Charlie flinched at Dean’s venomous tone, but she didn't back down. She let go of the journal, slowly, and gave it a pointed nod.

"I didn't say that but whatever is doing this, I think your dad had something to do with it. I didn't read past the first couple of pages but... just look. It's your dad's and some of the symbols on the puzzle box is in the inside cover. There might be more like there are on the other book. If I can crack it, maybe we can figure out who killed Victor. I have to find out, Dean. I have to."

"This is about your parents," Dean said, softening as he finally understood. He set the hammer down to grasp the book in both hands, but he didn't open it yet. He wasn't sure if he could handle what was inside. He looked up at Charlie instead and noticed how wet hers was. She sniffed and all of his anger vanished.

"I never found out who killed them, Dean. Everything was swept under the rug and I've been looking, but I keep hitting walls! And now I might never make it back and I won't be able to solve it, but I can solve this. I can break this, Dean. Please, let me crack this code. I _have_  to," she pleaded, her tears perilously close to falling. Dean set the book down.

"Oh sweetheart." He rounded the table and gathered her in his arms. Charlie sniffed again, her whole body trembling, but she hugged just as tight. He might not have known her for long, but Charlie was family. He had forgotten that in his anger but he wouldn't forget again.

"I'm sorry, Charlie. I..."

A thud upstairs caught Dean's attention and had him pulling back. Sam was still upstairs.

"What was that?"

"I don't know. I'm okay, go," Charlie said. It was all the permission Dean needed to head for the stairs.

**  
**Dean burst into Sam’s room, but didn’t see any immediate threat. He looked around, trying to figure out what had made that sound, but nothing was toppled over. It could have come from another room but Dean could have sworn it came from Sam’s. **  
**

"..Anything?" he asked, meeting Dean’s eyes. "There's no one in the cabin?"

Dean's gut told him that something was off, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Cas was by the door with the gun in his hand and Sam was slowly but surely getting out of those bloody clothes. If he knew better, he'd say that they had been messing around, but that could just be stress talking.

"Everywhere's clear. The windows and door are barred. That bastard is out there, but he's not getting back in. When you're done washing up I need you down stairs. Charlie found some old journals in the basement. She and Cassie thinks Victor had been after them before he... died. They belonged to Dad."

"Dad's journals?" Sam frowned, sharing a look with Cas. "They think... That's got something to do with all this?" With a washcloth Sam cleaned off lingering blood from his feet and ankles, his calves. Dean had to force himself to look away, catching Cas’s eyes as he did. He made a face and looked up at the ceiling. He heard the wet slap of Sam throwing the cloth to the side. "What did Victor have wanted in there? He never even knew dad."

"Do I look like I know, Sam?" Dean asked, letting every ounce of exhaustion show in his voice and the way he slumped forward. He was worn down, on the verge of breaking, and Sam of course had to ask questions. He wouldn't be Sam if he didn't.

"Up until last year Jo and Ellen were pretty sure that Bill was dead and none of us thought that Jess was capable of jumping. And as of yesterday, I didn't know anything save for a rabid grizzly bear could tear a man apart limb from limb on dry land. But these things happened and all I do know is that Charlie is playing with some weird ass box that gives me the heebie jeebies and there are journals down there with Dad's name on them. If there is a clue for how the fuck this is all connected, it might be in those journals. So come on. It's time to crack open the books. Not much else left to do," Dean said.

One look outside Sam's window, (which Dean realized wasn't barred,) and told himself that they had plenty of time to figure things out. Snow was falling hard, the wind whipping outside the cabin. All Dean could think was how convenient it was that a blizzard was hitting them now.

"I'm sorry," Sam mumbled, cutting through Dean’s thoughts. He glanced back at Sam in time to watch him tug off his shirt and replace it with a clean one. Dean frowned, realizing that there was not a single cough to be heard, just a very slight rattle. When was the last time he had been able to get dressed without a cough? “...I guess I'm still trying to come to terms with whatever this is being real."

They headed for the door, Cas stepping out first. Dean saw Sam give him some sort of signal before Sam was holding him back with a hand wrapped around his wrist. Dean gave a light tug, expecting what Sam was going to say and not wanting to hear it.

"Don't do this," he said, gentle but firm, drawing in a slow, faintly wheezy breath, their eyes meeting. "This isn't your fault, insisting we come here." And in case Dean tried to escape what he was trying to say, Sam tugged him into a hug. A hug Dean needed. "You didn't know what coming back here would mean. It's not your fault. We're gonna figure this out."

Like Charlie, Dean couldn't afford to stop and think, but that was what Sam wanted from him. It was what Sam did, ask the impossible of Dean. He tried to break away at first, even if he had never turned down a hug from Sam. They had too much to do, didn't have time for the touchy feely crap, but Sam didn't let go. There was no coughing fit that forced Sam to pull away.

Why wasn’t Sam coughing?

"Feels like my fault," Dean admitted, relenting in Sam's hold. He molded himself around his baby brother, right hand cradling the back of Sam's head while his left splayed over Sam's back to keep a check on his breathing. It was steadier than Dean was used to, especially on the curtails of an asthma attack. A red flag was waving in the back of his mind, but Dean's guilt finally broke through the surface and it threatened to drag Dean down.

"I've been itching to come back for months, Sam. Before you even woke up from the coma. I can't explain it and I think you're wrong. We were warned, Sam. We knew that there's someone up here causing trouble but I didn't listen. Was just so bent on getting here and now look what happened. Victor's dead, man. That's on me. Just like Benny's death," Dean said in the bend of Sam's neck, choking on his grief.

Sam's fingers curled in Dean's shirt, pressing in closer with a shaky exhale. They were pressed tighter than his chest usually ever let him hug someone before, but they /both/ needed to right then. Dean knew his brother. He wasn’t the only one playing the self blame game there.

"I wanted to come back, too. I wanted it, too, and I don't even know why, so _don't do this_." Another shaky breath, another soft wheeze, "Don't blame yourself. We weren't gonna move on if we didn't find closure. We didn't know what would happen."

And yet instead of closure all they were finding was more heart ache. More death. More blood. Sam swallowed a sound not unlike a quiet sob, burying his face against Dean's shoulder.

"Hey," Dean soothed and started petting Sam's hair. His own grief got swept under the rug in the wake of Sam needing the comfort he was trying to give to Dean. But Dean was the big brother. He was supposed to be the strong one there. Sam's rock.

"You're right, we didn't know this would happen. It's not on us, Sammy. Their deaths ain't on us," Dean insisted, pulling back far enough to look Sam in the eyes. He forced himself to believe it, for Sam's sake. They hadn't known this would happen. hey hadn't had a clue. Dean was going to grab hold of that with both hands and run with it.

"And we'll figure this out. Together. You and me against the world, remember?" Dean said. He pressed their foreheads together and just breathed Sam in. It was a moment of respite they couldn't afford to take, but couldn't afford not to, either.

You and me against the world.

Words Dean had been saying to him after every nightmare that's hit their life thus far. Words to live by. Everything else might fade away but they would always have each other.

"You and me against the world," Sam echoed with a small nod that said they were in this together. On the same page. They would go down there and figure out what was going on and if it even tied to dad.

It all started with those journals.


	18. Chapter Seventeen: And the Truth Comes Spilling Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sam, Dean, you need to come see this." Cas' voice drew them further into the kitchen where he was standing with Dad's journal in his hand. Dean walked over to him with Sam at his side, aware of Cassie watching them the whole time. She was oddly quiet and still, but Dean soon had bigger things to worry about.
> 
> "What is it, Cas?" Dean asked. Cas flipped to a page and began reading.
> 
> "July 8th, 1983. Two months after he was born, we finally got to bring little Sammy home today. They said that the virus that attacked his heart and lungs is clear but that damage had been done. Doc said to keep an eye on his breathing and make sure everything is hypoallergenic as he might have asthma on top of it all. Dean was disappointed he didn't get to hold his baby brother but Sammy is still so small and fragile. He stopped breathing twice on the way home. I don't suspect that Mary and I will doing much sleeping...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys! The Holidays are eating us up so it might be a bit until we are consistent. Just bear with us. It's getting good.

"Where's Kevin?"

When Sam and Dean finally made it down stairs, the girls and Cas were bent over their findings. There were books, what looked like a photo album, and the box that Charlie was obsessed with. It was giving Dean some serious Hellraiser vibes with pieces that twisted and could be pushed in, each click giving him the heebie jeebies.

"In his room. With the tequila," she said and began jabbing at the box again. Dean nodded, didn't blame Kevin for that. He itched for a drink himself but after last night, (fuck, had it only been last night?) he probably shouldn't touch anything remotely alcoholic.

"Sam, Dean, you need to come see this." Cas' voice drew them further into the kitchen where he was standing with Dad's journal in his hand. Dean walked over to him with Sam at his side, aware of Cassie watching them the whole time. She was oddly quiet and still, but Dean soon had bigger things to worry about.

"What is it, Cas?" Dean asked. Cas flipped to a page and began reading.

"July 8th, 1983. Two months after he was born, we finally got to bring little Sammy home today. They said that the virus that attacked his heart and lungs is clear but that damage had been done. Doc said to keep an eye on his breathing and make sure everything is hypoallergenic as he might have asthma on top of it all. Dean was disappointed he didn't get to hold his baby brother but Sammy is still so small and fragile. He stopped breathing twice on the way home. I don't suspect that Mary and I will doing much sleeping.

July 10th. Had to take Sam back to the hospital. Dean came into the room at four in the morning, said that Sammy was blue. I had to breathe the life back into my own son and I don’t know if that will be enough. Doctors are performing surgery as I write, which Mary insisted that I do.

July 11th. Surgery took, but it wasn't a permanent fix and the virus may have returned. Sam will be on the machines for a while again. I'm cracking but Mary is staying strong. I don't know how she does it.

August 15th. Back at the hospital. More machines. They're starting to drive me crazy. Doc's talking about a risky procedure that might kill Sam before his lungs do. Mary wants to talk about it, but I don't see it as an option. There has to be another way."

"I knew that Sam was sickly as a baby, but that sounds pretty bad," Dean said. Cas nodded.

"It... gets worse. I haven't read much farther but..." Cas handed Sam the journal cautiously.

"You don't remember going in and out of the hospital because of me?" Sam asked his brother as he worriedly took the offered journal to keep reading out loud.

"August 25th. Back in the hospital. Sammy died today. He was dead for two minutes. They had to bring him back with a pediatric defibrillator and thank god it worked. Dean doesn't know. I've looked everywhere, for anything that can help, but what I've found scares me. ...But losing Sammy scares me more. Dean won't survive losing him, he's already attached."

Dean met the look Sam sent him and swallowed thickly. His mouth had gone dry.

"I died... I died and they brought me back, did you know that? Did dad ever say anything, later?"

Dean shook his head as he scrubbed his hand over his mouth. His palms were clammy and his heart pounded against his chest. The further they read on the more he got a bad feeling about what they were going to discover.

"He mentioned once that we almost lost you, but that could have been other incidents," Dean said. His memory was a little foggy, but there had been a few reacquiring nightmares that he was starting to wonder if they really were just the workings of an overactive imagination. Like Dean pulling the trigger to stop a bad man from hurting his baby brother, waking on a strange floor with blood splattered on the wall, and blood dripping from his fingertips into baby Sammy's mouth...

Dean hoped to God that they were just nightmares as he leaned around Sam to keep reading.

"August 28th. Caught Dean performing CPR on his teddy bear. Said he has to learn how to save Sammy like the EMTs. It killed me to kneel down and teach him how to do it just right but the smile Dean gave me is worth the tightness in my chest. I half hope he never has to use it.He's only four and already sleeps in the crib with Sammy. Mary and I can't stop him to save our lives.

September 3rd. Dean saved Sam's life. I never wanted him to have to use it, but if Dean hadn’t performed CPR, we likely would have lost Sammy. I can still hear Dean's voice through the baby monitor pleading Sammy to breathe. Nor can I get out the image of my four year old performing chest compressions on his brother’s chest. Sammy's ribs didn't crack the first time the EMT's did it. They cracked under Dean's hands but Sam started crying after that. Dean asks about the cracks and pops he felt. Worries he hurt his brother. I lie and tell him he didn't. It's not a lie when I tell him that he's a hero. The doctors tell us Sam will be in the hospital for a week."

Dean's voice was shaky by the last few sentences and he kept clenching his fists. He was pressed close against Sam and when his thumb popped, he jerked. The journal in Sam's hands looked a little shaky, too. Dean kept reading.

"October 1st. Sam died again. He was gone for three minutes that time. What scares me the most is that Dean understands this. He asked me as we were in the waiting room if Sam goes to Heaven if he could go too to watch out for his baby brother. He got it in his head that angels might be mean to Sam and that he has to be up there to protect him. I told Mary I needed to go get a cup of coffee. Went into the bathroom and cried for a solid five minutes instead. I can't do this. I'm not going to lose my sons no matter what it takes. I know what I have to do now."

"Do what?" Charlie asked in a small voice. Dean looked up at her, having honestly forgotten that they had an audience. Everyone was staring at him and Sam, looking as pale and shaken as he felt. Dean looked at Sam and swallowed hard.

"This was right before we took that family trip up here with the Harvelle's. The trip where they thought Bill had died," Dean whispered. He was starting to remember.

Tension began to settle thick in the air, turning the cabin oppressive. He could read in Sam’s eyes what he was thinking. He had died. He had died multiple times, Dean had wanted to die with him at _four_. He was supposed to be dead, but dad hadn't left it alone. He hadn't left it alone...

"I'm going to get everyone something to drink. I should get started on dinner. You guys keep reading,” Cassie said, her voice cutting through the tension.

"I was a three when we went on that trip," Jo spoke up, her own voice trembling as she listened. "I remember not liking it here. It was too cold. Snowing."

“Yeah,” was all Dean could say as he started to rub Sam’s back when the wheeze returned. He waited for Sam to hand back the journal, but instead he continued to read.

"October 10th. Been drinking. Mary shot the idea down. She won't hear of it. God doesn't make mistakes, she says. She loves Sammy. ...I know she's scared to lose her preemie baby, but she still won't listen. This isn't the route she wants to go, she says. God will save him, not The Book. If God gave a damn about my boy he wouldn't have done this to him in the first place."

Dad blamed God. Dad went through a major crisis over what was happening to his boys. Dad...

"October 15th. Sammy died today for the third time. They almost didn't bring him back. The boy has more allergies than we had ever thought. It was just a strawberry laced goodnight kiss from Dean. It's like the world is _trying_  to kill him. Strawberries, peanuts, wool, wheat, bees-- The Goddamn air! I have to do it, I don't care what Mary says. She doesn't have to know.

October 20th. Mary thinks we're going on a family trip to the cabin with the Harvelle's to get Sam out of the city air. She thinks the clean crisp air will help him breathe. ....It not the only thing that's going to help him."

"I don't wanna know," Sam managed to get out, free hand pressing to his chest that was starting to rattle again, loud and with a vengeance, as if to spite him for breathing normal for a time. "I don't wanna read any more--"

"You have to, Sam," Jo said shakily, glancing between the brothers. "Something happened up here. Something bad."

"Is me being alive bad?"

"I didn't say that..."

"I'll read it. Give it here," Dean interrupted, grabbing the book. He glanced around the room, noticing that Kevin was now on the stairs, listening. Charlie had abandoned the weird puzzle box completely and Jo was on her feet, leaning against the table. Cassie remained quiet and patient, cooking at the stove. The smell of the sloppy jos made him queasy. When their eyes met, a chill fissured down his spine. Dean swallowed down his nerves and began reading.

"October 28th. Everyone is settling well. Dean was happy to have a playmate in Jo. She actually managed to get him to leave his baby brother's side for more than five minutes. Sam's breathing is better but it's still not good. The cold is also a catch twenty two. It helps his breathing but he's too little to handle the temperature. Not sure his heart can deal. Mary made the mistake of letting Dean hear this and now he won't play. He won't even come down for dinner. Says he has to keep Sammy warm.

October 30th. Tomorrow's the day. I told Mary that I'm going to take Dean out in the morning to teach him how to hunt. She thinks it will be good for the boy to get away from Sam for a few minutes. I don't think she suspects anything."

Dean stopped reading long enough to lick chapped lips. He could sense it, how close they were to coming to the truth. He glanced at Sam, listened to the whine in his inhale. Cas was rubbing his back to ease the ratle while those wide blues were locked on the book. Dean followed Cas's gaze and continued reading.

November 1st. It shouldn't have gone that way. I had been close! Sam could have been healed if they hadn't intervened. His heart is fine now, but he's still sick. I can still lose him, and for what? Bill's dead and Mary.

Oh Mary, why did you do it? We could have had our boy healthy and happy. We could have been whole. Now you're going to leave me? I hope you're..."

Dean stopped reading to gulp in air. He was breathing ragged, tears in his eyes. Memories of his mother looking so frail and small in a hospital bed started to come out of the fog.

"Oh God. I think I remember what Dad did," he said and clenched his eyes shut. 

* * *

 

"What did he do? What did he _do_?" Jo asked, voice thick with tears that were slipping onto her face. Charlie had wrapped herself around her from behind, trying to offer what comfort she could, but Jo was so close to just breaking down into tears.

Sam didn't have to wonder why. Her daddy had become what he had become, because of whatever this was. Whatever dad had done to fix Sam’s heart and lungs... Sam hadn't even _known_  he used to have a bad heart. A preemie baby with an underdeveloped heart and underdeveloped lungs, forced out early because his mom hadn't known he had allergies.

He had been a curse upon his family from the moment they conceived him.

Every breath rattled worse, the familiar whine from his air passages back again, making every inhale ragged. Worse with the emotion lumping in his throat.

Dread and anguish was suffocating him.

How many lives had been lost because of him being alive?

"She died," He cut in before Dean could even try and read the November 2nd entry. "She died, Mr. Harvelle became a monster, dad died, Jess died, Benny died, and now Victor, and it's because of me. Whatever dad did... Whatever happened is because of _me_."

He was trembling where he stood and if it wasn't for Cas's hands he would've worked himself into an asthma fit right there just for talking without enough pauses to _breathe_.

A dry sob that wouldn't do his breathing any better escaped him with a choked up. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to hear anymore. But Dean had to tell them. They had to know.

"Sammy, no," Dean said, closing the journal around his thumb. He reached for Sam as he always did, needing to comfort him. It was his job, to always protect Sam, because Dean had never been given a choice.

"Dean, what happened?" Cas asked as he pulled Sam close instead. His arms came around Sam, his hands rubbed the spots that helped Sam breathe. Cas did that for him, now. Not Dean. Sam could see in the tick of his brother’s jaw how much that bothered him.

"We didn't go hunting that morning," Dean said tersely while the book remained closed around his thumb. He looked between Sam and Cas then back down at the journal.

"Dad had other ideas."

 


End file.
